


Alive

by Aviantei



Category: IGPX: Immortal Grand Prix - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Occassional Angst, Romance, Slow Burn, This apparently, What happens when you put two bored adrenaline junkies in one room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-01-27 08:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 74,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21388870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviantei/pseuds/Aviantei
Summary: Kirsten Tailor, set up for life and bored out of her mind, is willing to commit breaking and entering for a bit of excitement. Alexander "Cunningham" Hume, rich and famous and similarly bored, is willing to let it slide on a whim. When the world looks like nothing but grays, what do you need to do to see life in color? [CunninghamxOC]
Relationships: Alex "Cunningham" Hume/Original Character





	1. 0 mph

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction was originally posted on fanfiction.net on September 23, 2015. It is currently ongoing, with updates every Saturday. We'll match those once we get through the rather heft backlog.
> 
> Cunningham is an interesting character that I wanted to play around with, so here we go.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_0 mph_

* * *

I walk down the street, bag of groceries hanging off my arm. The handle is digging into the crook of my arm, but I don’t care. It’s not going to kill me, and is only mildly annoying. Even if it ends up cutting off my circulation, there’s no point in moving it, considering my apartment’s only a few blocks away.

It’s not like I don’t feel numb most of the time anyway.

Somewhere along the line, I ended up hitting a slump. It hasn’t gone away. I knew I would probably end up hitting this sort of thing at some point, but it came way sooner than I expected. I was ready for this to happen when I finally make my way to being in my thirties, forties even. Instead, I’m stuck not even halfway through my twenties with enough money to live on for the rest of my life, and I’m bored out of my mind.

No, more than out of my mind. I’m so bored that I think it’s killing me. I don’t know too much about psychology, but I think that’s something that can happen. If a person gives up, it will affect them enough that they’ll shorten their lifespan. But even devastating boredom like this would take far too long to deteriorate my wellbeing at this stage in my life.

I come to a stop at a crosswalk, just like everybody else. I sigh. Traffic is slow, but it’s still there. Any other day, I would just go for it and run across, whatever cars are coming be damned, forget the safety of my groceries. Today, I just can’t manage it—the energy, the desire.

I’m not quite domestic yet, but I sure as hell feel like it.

_“And it’s a big day coming up for IGPX tomorrow. Last year’s champions, Team Satomi, race against their predecessors, Team Velshtein. We’re not even halfway through this year’s IG-1 season, but let me tell you, the excitement and tension is just about as high as it would be for the finals! Who’s going to win is anyone’s guess, but I can tell you for sure—neither of these teams will be backing down in the slightest. I can hardly wait!”_

The announcer on the TV is as loud as ever, but I’ve gotten used to it. I first came to IGPX City thinking that maybe I could become a pilot. But I ended up realizing how much training it would take to even get a license, plus I would have to work with a team to get anywhere near real competitive racing. I knew I would get bored before then. So I gave up.

Not that being in a cockpit and going over four-hundred miles per hour didn’t sound _amazing_…

When it came to the pilots, I kind of envy them. But at the same time, it isn’t a realistic move for me. I couldn’t really do anything, though. That was the conclusion I came to, and I haven’t found anything to change my mind ever since.

But what if this is my last chance?

There’s no way I could live an honest lifestyle. I don’t need to, either. I had gotten lucky, taken some big risks, and come out with plenty of money. No need to work. The funding to do almost anything I want. Enough common sense to not risk that. But if I just went and bought groceries every day, nothing else, hoping that maybe I could make something to pick me up—well, I need to take a risk then.

The crosswalk signal changes. People walk forward. I don’t. On the TV, the announcer’s still discussing the upcoming race and the possible outcomes. Footage from what I assume is last year’s season plays with his commentary. I block him out, imagining what it would be like to be the pilot, to be control of something that powerful and dangerous.

At this point, I need to make up my mind of what to do next in my life, and I do.

I’ve got to get myself into one of those mechs. And it doesn’t matter how.

The crosswalk signal switches to red, and I run for it, nearly knocking over other pedestrians all the way home.


	2. 1 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_1 mph_

* * *

It’s not my first time at the IGPX track—I once went hoping that watching the racing would be enough of an excitement. It wasn’t, even though I went at what was supposed to be “the most anticipated race of the season!” After that, I only went a few other times, trying out stuff like pickpocketing. Turns out that sort of stuff isn’t fun unless you get noticed, and even then a chase and escape is dull. Besides, petty theft is nothing, and doesn’t even bring a good yield.

The risk/return ratio is all wrong.

This time, though, I have a different game plan. I don’t know if it will work or be possible, but I figure it’s better than nothing. The worst that could happen is that I’d get arrested for trespassing, and I can take a few days in jail. I can pay the bail easy. And if this doesn’t work, well, I’m not going to have much else I can care about anyway.

Getting into the stadium is the easy part. I pay my ticket just like anyone else, then promptly forget about trying to find a seat. I didn’t come here to _watch_ a race—I came to experience it. It’s an hour and a half before the race bothers to start, but there’s still a lot of foot traffic. It’s enough of a crowd to cover my actions without hindering them. I find the bathroom and tap my foot until I can get a stall.

I wanted to avoid bringing a bag at all costs, but there just wasn’t enough time to be able to memorize the map I need. A few contacts of mine were kind enough to give me copies of the stadium’s schematics—from maps to how to get through the security systems in the mech hangers. I take a seat, open up the duffel bag, and grab the new tablet I bought this morning. It has enough of a security setting that I can wipe it of any evidence if necessary, but the less evidence that can connect to exactly me, the better.

I pull up the schematics, blocking out the chatter as the women in line make small talk. I at least organized the data enough that I could navigate it easy, and soon I’ve found my current location. A few clicks later, and the navigation system another contact of mine built up highlights the best entrance to get from the stadium seats to the team hangers on this floor. There are even ticks where vital security checkpoints are.

Committing the route to memory as best as I can, I repack my bag, flush the toilet, then exit, making a stop by the sink before I move on. There’s a stairwell that leads up to some of the higher seats, which are meant to give a better view. They’re probably packed, ‘cause the stairs have people coming down them, looking disappointed. I head up anyway.

“Good luck, Lady,” a man says to me, sarcasm biting into his words. “You ain’t gonna find a seat up there.”

Au contraire. It’s a bit of a roundabout way, but this is gonna get me the best seat in the house. I put on my best smile. “I had a friend go up earlier. She’s saving me a seat,” I lie. The man scowls, then continues down the stairs. I take two steps at a time on the way up to avoid dealing with any more interference.

Once I get into the crowd, I make sure I look casual. The stands look like they’re overflowing, and there’s more than a few security workers running around, looking ready to pounce. I bet that big events like this spawn plenty of trouble. By the time I make it to the opposite side, there’s a shouting argument over seats close to the bottom, loud enough to be heard over the crowd’s chatter. The security guard patrolling the side goes to take care of it, and I rush down the stairs, close to the wall.

There’s a door there. It doesn’t lead directly to security, but it does connect to the main complex. It was installed so that guards didn’t have to walk around entire buildings to get to areas where they’re needed. There’s usually a guard posted in front of it, but they’re pulled pretty thin. I look over the crowd, where most people’s attention is pulled to someone loudly telling off the guard. I don’t bother to wish for any sort of luck and try the knob.

It opens and I manage to make it inside.

Shutting the door manages to make everything quiet. The sound of the crowd disappears, and the utter silence almost makes my ears ring. I’m going to have to be careful to not make enough noise to be heard. At least I get the advantage of being able to hear anyone else getting closer.

This building is designed to hold a lot more than audience members and bathrooms. A walk down a hallway and I find a couch against a wall. Taking a break, I sit down and pull the tablet back out, and relocate myself on the map. Once I figure out the best route to go, I find the fake ID badge and drop its lanyard around my neck. It even has enough override to get me through any security checks, so I need it ready and at hand.

I think I could have bought an arm and a leg for less than what it cost for me to get it made in less than twenty-four hours, but this is an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity kind of deal, so I’m not cutting any corners.

I get moving, not wanting to stay in one place for too long. I only have to check my maps a few more times before I get close to the docking areas. Once I’m there, I wipe the tablet’s data and dump it the closest men’s bathroom trashcan. None of the bathrooms have cameras in this place, so I’ve left as little of a trail as possible.

I did a little flash research beforehand, to figure out which team to deal with. I ended up with a lot of unnecessary information about Team Velshtein and Team Satomi. But I did end up knowing that Velshtein has way more established pre-race routines. Right about now, the pilots are talking with their manager and the mechanics have already done preliminary checks. Their hanger is pretty much deserted for the next twenty minutes.

Plenty of time.

I get to the entrance and swipe my security card. The door opens, and I slip inside. Ideally, I would have hired someone else to hack the security cameras into a loop, but by the time I got my other supplies, I just couldn’t handle it. I settled for a cheap baseball cap pulled to hide most of my face and my hair tucked underneath. The fact that only half of my head is buzzed down, with the rest in a giant ponytail tends to be a distinguishable trait and makes it even more necessary.

It doesn’t take much to find the racing mechs. They’re giant. The track is at a distance when you’re in the stands, and the TV scales in camera angles that make you forget the size. I stand next to one, my head only staring at the lower leg. Looking up is even more disorienting. I have to resist the urge to touch it so I don’t leave any fingerprints.

It’s unreal.

I step back to look the whole area over. I’m sure there’s some mechanism that the pilots use to get loaded into their mechs, but it’s probably hard to activate without alerting anyone. The only helpful thing right now is that mech in the center has its hatch open, plus there’s a platform that oversees the area. I can’t tell the exact distance between them, but it’s the best shot I’ve got.

I find a set of stairs on the side of the room, and I run up them. Now that I’m closer, there’s probably about ten feet at most between the platform and the mech. I have an advantage in height, too. I stretch out my legs as quick as I can, take a deep breath, and break out into a run.

It’s not my first time pulling a stunt like this, but it’s been a while. I experienced most of the dangers and damages aside from death, so I won’t complain if I miss. Of course, I’d prefer that I don’t get hurt, since that’s asking for me to get caught, but what happens is gonna happen. Once I get close enough, I grab onto the railing and fling myself overboard.

While the fact that the cockpit’s open is a stroke of luck, I’m not so lucky to have it facing open in my direction. My face almost smacks into the open door, but I manage to grip onto the edges and contours, laughing through shaky breaths. I’m able to keep holding on since I tossed on a pair of fingerless sports gloves before I left, but they can only give me so much traction, and I start to slip right away. I switch my grip and try to swing around the side of the door, my foot hitting against the mech’s shoulder before I land in the seat of the cockpit backwards.

The mech is big and steady enough that it doesn’t even shake, but I do. I’ve been stuck for the longest time, without anything to help. And while a little stunt like that isn’t enough to pick me up all the way, it’s better than nothing. My laughing only gets louder the more I get my breath back, and I have to remind myself that making noise isn’t really a good thing at the moment.

Still shaking a bit, I stand up. Adrenaline leads a smile onto my face. Once I’m facing the right way, I can see the entire hanger. I take a deep breath, letting it sink in. It’s nothing like going rock climbing, but the sense of height is still enough to feel powerful. Giving my legs a break, I drop down into the pilot seat.

I’m not stupid enough to think that I can pilot a mech with no experience. I don’t know how to start it up, either. Still, I put my hands on the controls and close my eyes. Just thinking of what it would be like to go that fast lets me feel excited. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, being an IGPX pilot, no matter what league I’d be in. It might take me some time, but it’s really the only lead I have. The real pain would be finding teammates, but I guess I don’t have to get along with them. They would just need to fill seats and be good enough to stay in the competition.

I exhale. I don’t have the best internal clock, but I can tell it’s about time for me. Better to get out early then wait ‘til the last minute and get caught. I stand up just in time to see the entrance open up, and duck back behind the mech’s console. I can’t be seen, but it’s not worth anything. Soon enough, someone’s gonna find me, and I’m going to be in deep trouble.

I take a chance and peek over the edge. A clock on the wall lets me know I should still be in the clear. Of course. An unscheduled event. Just perfect. Trying to keep calm, I look around the room for an opening. I can’t explain why I’m in the mech, but at least I have the security credentials to pull off a decent excuse for why I’m the room. I just need to get down while the person in the room isn’t looking.

“Hey, you!”

And before I can even finish thinking that this can’t possibly get any worse, I’m proven wrong. Because the person glaring up at me is Cunningham Hume, IGPX superstar, and he’s probably one of the few people in IGPX City with more money than I do, which means I can’t pay my way out of this situation.

Just what I fucking needed.


	3. 2 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_2 mph_

* * *

Cunningham stands in the middle of the room, already dressed in his mech suit. The vibrant red stands out amongst the pale architecture of the hangar. His posture is sturdy and tensed to fight. The air conditioner thrums around us as I try to figure out which move to take next.

I have my credentials, which means a number of excuses could do. I could always take the apologetic employee route: “Oh, Mr. Cunningham, I’m sor—” _Gross, fuck that._ I may have done plenty of questionable things to get here, but I haven’t hurt anyone or sabotaged anything. I’m not afraid, so I don’t need to act like it.

_He can hire a better lawyer than me if he has to,_ I remind myself. The height factor keeps me from reading Cunningham’s face, but that means he can’t see my grimace, either.

“Wanna explain to me what the hell you’re doing in my mech?” the racer shouts up at me, all of his displeasure packed into the words. Of course I picked his mech. Why not? “You have about five minutes to talk before I call security.”

The warning doesn’t carry the same bite. It’s not his first time facing down someone where they don’t belong. I’m just a hassle in his own routines. If I’m reading his voice correctly (and I know I am, because I know those feelings in distinct clarity), then he’s—

“Bored much?” I call back down, adjusting my stance so I can lean on the edge of the cockpit. I’ll play the sassy part; how often do you get to have a throw down with a celebrity anyway? “Listen, I’m just here to have a private tour, okay? Get me down from here and I’ll get out of your hair. No need to call your buddies.” Cunningham seems to contemplate the words, and I use the opportunity to think back on the guards I saw before. I’ve dabbled in enough mixed martial arts that I could take down three or four with surprise, but not much more than that.

_I’ve been in the hospital enough times. Think of a different plan._

“Fine,” Cunningham relents, and I can’t figure out enough from the single word. “Stay put until I say so. One wrong move and you’ll get a private tour of a police cruiser.” As if I haven’t seen that outcome before, either. If the evening ends up being a bust after this, I’ll be pissed. Cunningham crosses to a console on the east side of the room, keeping his eyes on me like I could even run away in my position. “How’d you get up there anyway?” He doesn’t project his voice on that one, but the lack of other sound makes it easy to hear.

I put my smirk into my response: “Ever hear of parkour?” Cunningham pauses before the computer layout, his head twisting to look to the railings. I flash him a thumbs up of confirmation.

Cunningham’s sigh echoes up to my spot in the cockpit. He turns to the keyboard before him, manipulating commands on the console. I wish I could see from up here. There’s a whir as machinery comes to life, a lift mechanism from the side of the room extending out. The platform comes to a rest in front of me, a small gate visible in the railing. I could reach the handle if I extended my arm to half length.

“You planning on taking up my seat all night?” Cunningham demands.

“You’re the one who said not to move,” I call back. Not waiting for a response, I stand up in said pilot’s seat, check my distance and jump, catching onto the platform’s support railing and hauling myself over the edge. The mech behind me still doesn’t budge.

I take a few breaths to catch up my oxygen intake. Even though I’m not in the mech anymore, the faint buzz of excitement sticks in my chest.

Without warning, the platform moves. It’s not jerky enough to make me lose balance as Cunningham maneuvers me to the ground. Still not in the mood to toy around with security, I play the good girl and fold my hands behind my back.

Cunningham’s suit thumps like armor as he crosses the floor to me. He’s without helmet, meaning it’s still not time for him to go. “Special warm up time?” I ask, half to stall time, half from curiosity. Not that I need money, but I could earn a few favors from my informant buddies if I scrounge up fresh information on Cunningham Hume. “Didn’t mean to interrupt, you know. _I_ thought the hangar was supposed to be empty at this time.”

“Do you even care how suspicious you sound?” Cunningham’s dry remark gives me no pause.

“You already think I’m suspicious. What’s acting otherwise gonna help?” Now at a closer distance, I can make out the sharp angle of his jawline holding up the otherwise youthful features of his face. Dark hair is styled upwards, just like all his publicity photos. He seems like a straight laced guy. Bribes won’t work. “Listen, whatever you’re gonna do to me, just get it over with. I’d rather not waste a lot of time on formalities. I’ll even go to the police. Just say the word and I’m out of your hair.”

At this point, my best hope is to get the arrest over with fast. Pleading guilty should keep Cunningham from wanting to do anything too drastic. Who wants the hassle of a lawsuit anyway? _I certainly don’t._

I wait for him to make a call, trigger a security feature, anything. Instead, Cunningham opens the gate on the other side of the platform and steps up to me. He’s got the height, and I know being a pilot involves at least some level of physical prowess. I can’t size up his body shape through his bulky mech suit, but trying to take him on in a fight screams of a bad idea.

Cunningham reaches his hand out and catches the lanyard from around my neck. He raises my ID to his eye level without taking it off. There’s less than a foot between us. “Kirsten Tailor,” he reads. A few more moments pass as he looks over both sides of the ID and then drops it. The flimsy card bounces in dissonance with the percussion inside my ribcage. “You do know that building employees can get a tour of the building when they start, right?”

In other words, it’s something I _should_ know. Well, it’s not like I’m attached to my cover or anything. Still, I keep up the vague responses. “Employee tours can’t show me what I want to see.” Cunningham hasn’t stepped back. I don’t know if I’m fast enough to slip away without him catching me. It’s almost exciting, not knowing how this is gonna play out.

_Almost._

“You mean the inside of my cockpit,” Cunningham deadpans at me.

I beam at him, in hopes it’ll catch him off guard. “It didn’t _have_ to be yours.” Like hell I’m gonna get pegged as some crazy fan of his. “Yours was just the easiest to get into.”

Cunningham looks back at the line of mechs, all bright and imposing. I lean my head back in an attempt to see them, too. Unlike some other teams, the Velshtein mechs have very few distinguishing features. Cunningham’s, parked in the middle, just happened to have the best run-up time for me to launch myself into.

The man sighs again, and I toss a glare up at him. “Alright, I’m stumped,” he admits. “You work here, but you do stupid stuff like this?” I hold my tongue. Let him think what he wants. Cunningham presses a hand to his temple. “Whatever. The rest of the team’s going to be here in ten minutes to get set up started. If you wanna check out the mechs, set it up with the staff. I have a race to do.”

He turns his back on me—a stupid move really—but I don’t take the chance to bolt. That would be too suspicious. Cunningham clunks his way off the platform and walks up to the side of his mech. Right, he showed up off schedule because of a pre-race ritual. One I’m interrupting.

I _should_ walk off. That would make the most sense in this situation. But I caught something: the first undercurrent of excitement in his voice at the mention of the race. Breaking and entering is nothing to him in comparison to hitting the track. But on the other hand, that means _hitting the track is the only thing that matters to him._

Everything is gray. Such a mundane perception pisses me off. One of the biggest superstars in IGPX history, and he’s not even satisfied with it. He didn’t even smile when he mentioned the race. Sure, that might be because I’m a nuisance to him, but I’d expect at least some enthusiasm for something he should be all means enjoy.

I spin around, the metal clanging as my boot stomps down on it. Even though my gloves, I can feel my nails bite into my palms. Cunningham looks up at me, his palm still splayed out on the leg of his mech.

“If it’s not even special to you, why do you bother?” I demand.

Cunningham frowns. “If you don’t leave Sir Hamgra won’t be as nice as I was.”

I snort. Like I care about some team manager. “You don’t care about any of that,” I continue. “You don’t even bother to care about me messing around in your shit.” I stride forward and push open the gate closer to him. Cunningham turns to face me again, his expression unsettled. “You can’t seriously tell me you’re having fun with any of this. Just how _bored_ do you have to be with everything to think life’s not even worth your attention?”

I know the answer to that, because that’s how bored _I_ am. But I, at least, have an excuse. Not him, not someone who gets to sit in the peak of adrenaline. If he’s going to treat _that_ like it’s nothing, then I’m not going to let it slide.

“Your point being?” His deep voice wavers just a bit, leaving a curl of satisfaction in my stomach.

I hold up my badge between two fingers. “This is fake,” I say, as plain as blank paper. “I went to the trouble to get it because I’m a thrill seeker. _That’s_ why I would do ‘stupid stuff like this,’ thank you very much.” Cunningham looks like he can’t decide whether to yell at me or just look stupefied. The latter wins. “So tell you what. You let me walk out of here without any trouble, and in return I’ll show you some of the more exciting things in life. I won’t even break into your precious little hangar again.”

This is where it gets tricky. I’ve left enough distance between us that I have a head start on the door. At the very least, I can use parkour if I have to. There’s no way he has enough mobility for that sort of stuff in his mech suit. Of course, my contact was fucking with me when she put my real name on the ID, but I have a few old friends who owe me some favors if necessary…

“Are you messing with me?” Cunningham asks, his look more cutting than the edge of a blade.

I skip backwards a few steps, avoiding the platform behind me. I’ve pushed the time limit too far on this one. “Half the fun of life is taking chances, Cunningham,” I taunt still backing up towards the door. “You can either do the rational thing and call security on me, or you can indulge a bit and see what fun I can get you into.” I grin, making sure to show off as many of my teeth as possible. “But if you ask me, I think the time for rationality has long passed.”

I’m far enough across the room I have to project my voice to reach him. I can’t read his expression anymore, either. But I do manage to catch his startled shout as I press the trigger to open the door and slip back out into the hallway.


	4. 3 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_3 mph_

* * *

The biggest key to making a clean escape: _Don’t run._

_I’m not doing anything wrong. I have an ID. I belong here. You won’t even take a second glance at me._

I keep this mentality and stride away from the Velshtein hangar. Cunningham, whatever he thinks of my escape, doesn’t follow. I don’t run into any security guards, either, so that seems positive. I planned out my escape route beforehand, back into a different section of the stands than I entered from, and I make my way towards the stairwell.

On the way, I pass the rest of the assembled Team Velshtein, Sir Hamgra leading the pack in a sharp pressed suit. The other two racers, Jan and Dew, follow in step, their mech suits making as much of a racket as Cunningham’s. The rest of the procession is their technical team, all discussing terms I don’t recognize. I play the part of a star struck newbie, gape a bit, then wish the racers a hasty good luck before continuing on my way.

_Yeah, that was gross. What I did with Cunningham was at least entertaining._

_And stupid. Don’t forget stupid._

I can reflect on my past performances later. With the race gearing up to go, a bit more people are out and about in the hallways. I keep my back straight and walk with a purpose, and I blend right in. Within fifteen minutes of my retreat from Velshtein’s hangar, I’m at the employee entrance to the track. The posted security guard tips me a nod, and I squeeze myself between a man munching on nachos and a group of kids struggling to see the track over the crowd.

It’s the second semi-final match, but it feels like the end of the season with how much energy the crowd is putting into it. I pull off my hat and shake my hair loose, dropping the headgear behind me. This is a rematch from when Team Satomi toppled Velshtein’s winning streak in last year’s championships. There’s a lot of pride and hard work leaning on this.

_And that bastard didn’t even look excited about it._ I don’t know why I’m so bothered. He puts me on edge, and not in an exciting way. I check my watch. Not that I need to, as the announcer informs everyone within ten miles of the city that there’s only a few minutes left until the race starts. There’s no point in sticking around, other than security might be on the lookout for someone bailing out early. It’s best to stick with the crowd on this one, even though the rain clouds from earlier are starting to roll in, smearing the sky dark gray.

I wish I had brought my phone, but I didn’t want to get caught with it, either. Besides, I’m not supposed to contact the person I need to on my personal line, anyways. I lean back on the railing, watching the jumbo screens on the official IGPX announcement blimp countdown the last few seconds until the race begins.

When the numbers hit zero, the crowd erupts in cheers. I raise my voice to join them, even if I don’t mean it.

* * *

Team Satomi won after a close race. Their lead pilot, Takeshi, sounds ecstatic in the post-race comments, as do his teammates. I don’t bother to stay for Velshtein’s remarks, as I can slip out with the fans trying to beat the post-race traffic. I leave my hat on the ground, and no one bothers me as I exit. It’s almost _too_ perfect of a getaway for how much a screwed up, but I’m not going to argue.

Oh no. There’s someone else who deserves much more of my displeasure than good fate.

I make it home after half an hour of dodging in and out of traffic. The rain died off after the race, so no getting soaked for me. Not the highest adrenaline rush I’ve achieved, but it’s something to keep my blood pumping. I bounce my leg the whole ride up the elevator and barge in through my own front door. My stomach whines from my lack of lunch—genius I am didn’t want to bring my wallet, either, even though I _have_ dummy cards—but I push into my study and sort through my cell phones, trying to remember which number Mariya said I could call her from.

_Right, phone number five._ Crazy hacker, screening her calls with technology isn’t enough? I detach the matching smartphone from its power cord and start it up, heading back to the kitchen. I’m too fidgety to cook something fresh; I pop a TV dinner into the microwave without paying it much attention. My phone chimes to let me know it’s awake, and I dial Mariya’s number from memory.

It’s almost evening. Will she even be awake? I’m lucky enough that I got her to work for me during the day. The phone rings two and a half times, same as every time, before Mariya picks up.

_“Greetings, greetings, Kirsten,”_ she says, Russian accent thick as wool. I’m convinced she does it on purpose. _“Are you done with your escapades for the evening? I’d have thought you’d still be out and about, it’s hardly midnight. Don’t tell me you’re playing Cinderella.”_

The microwave goes off before I can even grit my teeth. I distract myself with the hot plastic tray as I talk. “Oh, no, I just found a gap in the intel I received today,” I say, making sure not to grit out my words. Passive aggression somehow gets through to Mariya’s head much better than the real deal. “Nothing too major, but it did point out to me that you decided to put my real name on that ID badge I ordered. Seems like a rip off for the money I put into it.”

_“Oh? Unexpected gaps, huh?”_ The sound of a keyboard pounding follows her words. She’s a smart woman; I know she didn’t miss my accusations. Mariya giggles as I sit down at my table and realize I forgot a fork. I trek back over to the silverware drawer. _“Goodness, what a jump. Did you have trouble getting do—ah, ah, I see. You’ve got as silver as a tongue as ever if you talked your way out of that one, dear.”_

I sigh, spinning my acquired utensil between my fingers. “If you’re going to hack into the security cameras anyway, replace that sequence with something less suspicious.”

_“If that’s a job request, do I have permission to take the funds from your account?”_ I can count the number of times I’ve met this woman face to face on one hand, but I can still see her shitty grin in my head. I stab my microwaved parmesan chicken with more force than necessary and grind my fork into the plastic tray beneath. _“What’s the time limit? I’ll need a rush job multiplier if necessary.”_

I growl, “I’d say your little professional flub-up means you owe me a few _favors_ on the house, don’t you?” and lift my whole slab of chicken at once, tearing a bite off the end. Marinara sauce and cheese fleck onto the table.

Mariya hums some nonsense tune, out of rhythm with her keystrokes. _“I’ll grant you that one, dear, but only because I like you.” _I’ll take it. I may not use Mariya’s services as much as I used to, but we still hold a decent relationship and like to keep it that way. _“Okay, we’ll add dismantling security footage onto today’s schedule and…what’s this other job, then?”_

“Say it’s for free or I’m hanging up.”

_“Hm, nope. Fifty-percent discount or bust, Kirsten.”_

She skirts around a binding audio recording of herself with ease. I didn’t expect any less. “Deal,” I agree, returning my chicken to its tray and cutting off a normal bite like a regular person. There’s no point if I don’t get the sauce, too. “Cunningham Hume. I’d like information on him in the next week, please.”

Mariya hacks in a different manner than usual: a massive coughing fit that makes me suspect she was in the middle of drinking something. Chewing over my most recent bite, I go to retrieve a soda from the fridge while she sets her lungs back to functioning order.

_“Honey, no,”_ she says once she can, _“you’re better than that.”_

I roll my eyes, even though she can’t see it. Sarcasm will have to suffice. “Oh, yes, because I’m so bored that I feel like becoming a stalker. Sorry for not being able to follow you around, but it’s not much of a challenge to spy on someone who sits in her house all the time.” That’s being generous. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this woman straight up lived in her room.

Mariya sniggers. _“You know I’d let you stalk me any day,”_ she amends.

“Delighted to hear it.” I pop the top on my soda can and chug half the thing in one go, carbonation burning my esophagus on the way down. “Anyway, I talked to the guy and he rubbed me the wrong way. So I figure a little prank or something might do him good, plus blow off some steam.”

_“You always did make a cute vigilante. Why ever did you quit?”_ Now there’s a few years that were pretty entertaining. Too bad they got dull, just like everything else. Man, if I had at least went bankrupt while gambling I’d still have an excuse to go out and earn money. Being loaded takes away so much urgency from human life. Mariya’s brain has already moved on, and she’s back to chattering away. _“Well, past is past. And it’s not my job to pry into clients, no matter how special you are to me. So, alright, info on Cunningham Hume in a week. Easy enough. Give me three days will you?”_

I stop halfway through my next bite of lunch. “That’s a bit generous,” I say, and the faint waver of hesitation slips into my voice. “Half-price jobs in half-time sounds like a good advertisement, but it’s not your style. What’s the catch?”

_“Meh, work’s slow.”_ Is she…pouting? I can’t quite tell. _“I’ll be done with it by then. Don’t miss the call, ‘cause I don’t give refunds. You know that.”_

“Alright,” I agree and pick up a stray strand of cheese from the corner of the tray. “Consent to take payment and all that. Which phone should I be waiting for?”

Mariya clicks her tongue. _“We did five this time, right? Hm, let’s see… Oh, we’ll go for seven! Just kidding, I know you don’t have a phone seven. We’ll go for three. One phone per day of work.”_

Whatever logic works for her. Considering she works for me, I can’t protest. “Okay, third phone on the third day, Mariya time.” Which means between day three and four for the diurnal world. Mariya hums her affirmation. “You better not call early because you’re bored. I won’t accept that as a proper missed call, you hear me?”

_“Fiiiine,”_ Mariya huffs out. _“Wait, what about calls on your personal phone. Those okay, honey?”_

“The sunlight’s addled your brain. Go back to bed, wacko.”

_“But you’re the one who called me and woke me up!”_

“Good _night_, Mariya,” I finalize and hang up before the blabbering goes on any further. I slump down into my seat, poking at my half-eaten chicken and the untouched pasta side. Dealing with Mariya after an infiltration? I’m beat. What kind of idiot does so many exhausting things in a row with no real profit?

_That would be moi. And let’s not forget that I’m digging myself into a deeper grave here._

Prank on Cunningham Hume is a flimsy excuse. It’s also very dumb, and not even going to be my final plan of action. I’m indecisive. I run a hand across the shaved half of my head, letting the smooth texture calm me down. Getting further involved with Cunningham is a disaster waiting to happen, and it’s a dangerous game to play.

But, hey, I love dangerous games. And there’s no harm in trying. Not when there’s a reason I didn’t tell Mariya.

Because amongst the rest of the grays and sepias, Cunningham was still red.


	5. 4 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_4 mph_

* * *

Even though Mariya’s working on the case, I still spend the next few days scrounging up information on Cunningham. Most of what I can find is generic—he’s two years younger than me, he was IG-1 MVP three years running, he and his teammates won their match against Team Sledge Mamma, earning Velshtein third place overall this year, a drop down from their position last year. Beyond that, it’s a bunch of babble from fans of a celebrity, trying to pad the void that is the off season.

Contrary to some other celebrities, though, Cunningham has a record cleaner than an untouched glass. Other teams and pilots seem to have some drama going on—half of the talk over the finals race is Team White Snow’s hacking escapades, overshadowing even their loss to Team Satomi. Velshtein, under Hamgra’s watch, have been nothing but professional athletes.

At least, I assume that’s on the surface. But Mariya’s intel comes in (on time, at that) and confirms what I’ve seen on my own, even when it’s all spread out on my office floor. Cunningham doesn’t _do_ drama, just races and publicity events when needed.

Or, I should say, Alexander Hume doesn’t. Cunningham’s a nickname. Go figure. Born to a rich family in Germany, won several fencing championships while still in school, hit onto the IGPX before even touching college, got taken under legendary pilot “Kaiser” (AKA, his stick in the mud team manager and coach), and the rest is history.

Mariya gives me more than that, too, but those are the components of his history. A workaholic racer who’s never wanted for anything in his life and still doesn’t give a shit about it. I’d scorn him if I weren’t the exact same way.

_I wouldn’t call it a challenge, but it’ll pass the time, that’s for sure._

The next set of important information is Cunningham’s rough off-season schedule. Just because there aren’t races doesn’t mean Velshtein gets to sit around and slack off. Not with Sir Hamgra at the wheel. There are practices and public appearances, but there’s plenty of gaps in the pilot’s time. If I wanted to, I could give him something to do during that free time, and I kind of want to…

I flip over pages of intel, not looking for anything in particular. Mariya’s included several photos of Cunningham, ranging in date from the past two decades. Damn, what a scary woman. I skim over them, amused that he still had that ridiculous hairdo even as a brat. Just a kid like everyone else, even if his studies were off the charts. No matter how many images I look through, they all stay black and white.

I groan and flop facedown into the carpet. _Don’t get discouraged. You haven’t even started the game._ This is just the prep work, my own pre-race routine. Things will work out once I get going.

Though, I have to figure out what kind of race I’m even competing in first.

I sit back up and locate Cunningham’s data trails from the past week. Nothing seems to indicate he’s been looking for me, but Mariya admitted that could be a lack of his own action. Other people could be looking for him. Mariya offered to look into it, but I haven’t had any trouble, so it’s not worth the cash dump just yet. Looking over the intel, Cunningham seems to be going through his life as usual.

It’s not a cat and mouse game. I don’t have to stress about that possibility just yet. Maybe I will, depending on what move I make, but I’m safe for now. Cunningham just let me slip away when I made it very easy for him to get me arrested.

_If I needed any proof he doesn’t care anymore, it’s that._

Okay, so he doesn’t care. What then? I pull my hair from its ponytail and shake the strands out, combing with my fingers to help me think. My conditioner has left my locks nice and smooth. What do I even want from him, this bored superstar? It doesn’t have to be him, but he makes a nice target. I care about something for the first time in months. So I’m going to run this lead into the ground if I have to.

With that settled, I turn to better stare down his schedule. Practices are strictly the same time—an entire day’s worth three times a week, no exceptions. That’s my best bet. I keep an eye on the schedule and shuffle through another pile, finding the sheet I’m looking for buried under the envelope the whole mess came in.

Cunningham’s contact and personal info fill out neatly stamped rows of text. It looks quite a bit like a government form, but I know better than to ask where Mariya gets her facts from. Given that she was all ready to send me his social security member in the mess, I’m better off not knowing. In the odd event that the authorities _do_ get involved, I’ll just look like a stalker instead of a hacker.

The important bit here is Cunningham’s address. I reach for my phone—then realize it might be best to keep this off my personal phone, just for caution. I haul myself to my feet, feeling my back crack from the sudden movement, and retrieve my secondary phone from its charger. It boots up as I read over the address line again. It’s a bit farther up town, in an area I considered settling down at. Not too long of a walk at all, and I still have several hours until Cunningham is even off from his practice. Plenty of time, and this time I mean it.

And if he does show up again off schedule, I’ll call the damn cops on myself, just to make it clear to fate that I’m not playing by their rules one little bit.

* * *

Cunningham’s house sits in a row of similar looking houses, each with a yard big enough to park a speed mode shifted IGPX mech in. The afternoon is bright, and a few people pass on the sidewalk. Few cars disturb the road. It’s not a neighborhood with many kids, so the lawns are all decorated without any sandboxes or playsets. It’s a shame, because the pavement would be perfect for a street hockey game or something.

I stand on the sidewalk in front of Cunningham’s house, a fresh baseball cap disguise in place, and glare at the door. I know he’s not home. That’s not the issue. The issue is that the place is protected by a very expensive security system. It’s easy enough to turn off once you get inside and enter the code (Mariya holds her position as verifiable hacking witch doctor for that one), but entry is an issue.

I can pick locks. Been able to for a long time, and years of sneaking around a police father makes you good at it. But I haven’t messed with that sort of thing in a long time—thanks to Mariya’s friends who can create replica keys for me. And while I could’ve gone that route, I’m still pressing some dangerous buttons with this one.

Not even Mariya will forgive me if I drag a trail back to her. So old school it is.

I walk up the sidewalk cut through the center of the front lawn. For a city in the middle of the desert (where _else_ would you have enough space to build the monster that is the IGPX track?), people sure do care about their landscaping. I try to imagine Cunningham with a push mower and snort into my palm. Nah, he’s gotta have someone to do that for him.

The porch is a blinding white, even as the wood thunks under my feet. Cunningham has no porch furniture, and there’s hardly any scrapes on the floor. Mariya’s report says the guy’s lived here ever since he became a racer. That’s about five years, and he doesn’t even have decent company.

For the sake of appearances, I knock on the door. I’m surprised fans haven’t stormed this place before. It’s not even a gated community. But maybe that’s why no one expects it. For someone so rich, even I didn’t expect him to live in an average-sized one floor house.

There’s no answer, as I knew there wouldn’t be, but I knock on the door again. While I wait again for no answer, I scope out the street. No one. It’s now or never. I dash across the left end of the porch, jump over the railing, and dive into Cunningham’s bushes. The pure smell of plant and dirt keeps me company as I press into the side of the house and work my way around to the backyard.

Once there, I tumble out into the space, making sure not to be visible from the street. The surrounding fence blocks me from the view of the neighbors. The biggest point of note in the backyard is a shed and a fire pit. Three deck chairs are scattered on the back porch; maybe his teammates come over sometimes.

I don’t quite feel relieved that Cunningham does something so normal. Making sure my hair is still hidden under my hat, I climb the stairs of this porch and stare down the back door.

The security on the back is the same as the front. This just gives me visual cover. I kneel down to eye level with the lock and pull my tools from my back pocket. I tuck in the tension wrench, insert the lock pick, and after a few minutes of scrubbing, the door yields when I turn the handle. It’s funny how people trust locks to keep them safe.

Success as I’ve had, there’s no time to celebrate. Cunningham’s security console is in his bedroom. I let the back door close behind me and take note of my position in the kitchen. Thanks to Mariya’s house map, I know to turn right, pick the center door in the hallway, and what code to punch in at the master bedroom. The security system takes my code and I reset it to react if someone enters.

“Alright, what now?”

I can admit I didn’t think this through. Cunningham’s room lies before me: curtains drawn down, dark bedspread and sheets scattered across the mattress, closet open to a line of plain shirts and slacks. A few IGPX photos hang from the walls—championship shots and the like. On the wall opposite of the bed sits a television on a stand. A lamp stands guard over the unmade bed. He’s not messy; he’s just _normal_.

_Not much more boring than that._

Shrugging my doubts off, I exit the bedroom and wander around the place. A larger television and movie collection takes up most of the living room, the kitchen is well stocked with a few stray pans in the sink, and the secondary bedroom holds some basic workout equipment, including a practice saber. A small office space holds bills and the like, and a display case holds miniatures of the Team Velshtein mechs, including what I guess to be a few different models.

I huff in agitation and start rifling through the drawers. Not many photos, no journals or keepsakes. Forget boring—this place is just _dull_. I get that celebrities are just ordinary people, but there should be something more exciting. This man is an _IGPX pilot_ for Christ’s sake!

And yet I recognize this sort of thing, because this is how my place is, too. Enough to feel comfortable, but nothing concrete. No signs of a hobby or sense of enjoyment. No _life_ on the inside. My stomach starts to twist in hunger, and I check the time on my phone. Unless he goes out with his teammates, Cunningham will be back in the next hour or so. Now is the time to get out while I can still reset the security system with little trouble.

So I head to the living room, place a call for some Mexican delivery, and pop in one of Cunningham’s many movies before making myself at home on the couch.


	6. 5 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_5 mph_

* * *

Cunningham’s couch is heaven made from stuffing and upholstery, and I’ve all but melded into it when a key turns in the lock. Gladiators in a movie I’m only half paying attention to scream at each other on screen, their weapons clanging in a massive racket. The door opens a bit before footsteps pound from the entryway, bringing Cunningham into the room, his face twisted into a mask of worry and confusion.

I toss up a wave with half an enchilada in my mouth. “Welcome home,” I greet, then gesture to the spread of food across the coffee table. “I bought you dinner.”

“Who the hell are you?” Cunningham demands, striding over to me. Something thuds to the floor amongst the cacophony from the surround sound—he dropped a grocery bag, looks like. Cunningham grabs at my shoulder. “I don’t know how you got in here, but—wait a minute…”

He squints at me. I fish around on the couch behind me, then retrieve my hat. I can’t quite tuck my hair back up under it with just one free hand, but it seems to do the job anyway, recognition flashing through Cunningham’s features. His outfit is a blend of muted darks not suited for the heat at all.

“You might wanna close the front door,” I caution. “You’re gonna let all the AC out otherwise.”

Cunningham pulls his hand back to cover his face with it. I can’t quite make out his muttering, but I catch his sigh. I scoot over to one end of the couch and pat the cushion beside me. “Come on, shut the door and get some grub. I don’t know what you like, so I just ordered a bunch. It’s on me.”

“You broke into my house!” Cunningham smacks his palm into the back of the couch.

I frown a little but lean towards the table and spoon more rice onto my plate. “I also broke into your IGPX hangar, but I didn’t see you throwing a fit about that.” I’m not sulking. If nothing else, I’ve never seen someone have this sort of reaction before. I add a dollop of sour cream to my plate and mix it up. “If you wanted to call the cops on me, you would’ve done it the moment you walked in the door. Hell, you could’ve incapacitated me. So stop your whining and watch this dumb gladiator movie with me, kay, Alexander?”

I use his proper name on a whim, just to see what happens. Cunningham stands up straight, away from his imposing lean over me. He smells like expensive cologne, covering up the last traces of sweat from his practice. “Explain to me just what you’re doing.”

“I will over dinner,” I promise and reach for the remote. “See, I even paused it for you. Go ahead, settle in. I can wait a bit.”

Cunningham turns away before I can get a read on his face. He tromps back to the door but doesn’t slam it. He does flick the lock, though. No, he doesn’t seem to be calling the cops, or anyone else for that matter. Maybe this was worth it after all.

I tuck my legs up to my chest and toss the cap aside again. I focus on balancing my plate on my kneecaps, and Cunningham comes back into the room a few minutes later with a bottle of water in hand. That’s an athlete for you. I give him a smile—half to disarm him, half to unnerve him—but he doesn’t return the expression. Instead of sitting down at the couch, Cunningham drops himself into an armchair perpendicular to me. I try to offer him the plate I snagged out of his kitchen, but the man threads his fingers together and stares me down.

“Answers,” he says, “before I decide you’re a stalker and press charges.” He speaks with an air that carries the weight of his fortune. I wonder how he’d react if we compared bank accounts. “You have thirty minutes. Don’t waste them.”

I sigh and press play on the remote. One gladiator, who had been paused mid run, is felled by a nasty sword swipe from his opponent. I can’t decide if the gush of blood looks cheesy or realistic. “You don’t really mean that.” Cunningham glares, trying to impart that he does, in fact, mean it. “I meant what I said before. If you wanted this over with it would’ve been done last week at the track. But you didn’t tell anyone, not even your precious Sir Hamgra, what happened.”

Cunningham grimaces before he resets his hard tone. “Your point?”

“My point,” I say, cutting off a fresh piece of enchilada, “is that you’re just like me, and you want to see where this goes.” I pop the bite into my mouth and conduct an orchestra with my fork, going out of time with the dramatic movie soundtrack. “You’re _bored_, Alexander, and so am I. So let’s be friends.”

“Don’t call me that,” Cunningham snaps. I shrug. If that’s his biggest concern, I’m well on my way to victory here. “And where do you get off talking like you know me? I’ve never heard such a pile of bull in my life.”

I don’t mind if he’s angry; that means he won’t think straight, which is easy to take advantage of. “Hey, I just know what I know,” I say. _Because I’m just like you,_ I don’t say. “You’re a superstar celebrity who has way too much time and money on their hands. I have so much money on my hands I wouldn’t have to work a single day in my life and still have an inheritance to spare. It’s dull, and when you’re an adrenaline junkie that’s no fun. So I figured, if you need something to do, I can offer my company.

“You piss me off anyway.”

I didn’t mean to say the last part, but too late now. Cunningham stares me down, though his intent has shifted from accusatory to curiosity. I all but have him, even with my non-sequitur. Cunningham sits up straight and crosses his legs, looking all the world like a king on his throne.

“Well, if I am bored, what makes you think you can do anything about it anyway?”

I grin, though I don’t think it comes across as cheerful as I want it to. “You know challenging me just makes me wanna do this all the more,” I warn. The fight on the screen winds down, softer music playing over the aftermath. “I think I can do something because I’ve done most things that people would call exciting, if not insane. You name an extreme sport, and I’ve done it.”

Cunningham raises an eyebrow. “And I’ve never heard of you in the IG Leagues because?”

I wave a hand through the air and face down my food. “That’s not important,” I say, sounding too hasty. I don’t look back to him. He’ll think I care about his opinion. “When’s the last time you went out and did something big and exciting that wasn’t your job?” Cunningham opens his mouth but shuts it soon after. I cram my plate into a free place on the table and stand up, sauntering over to the armchair. “You’re getting burned out because you do the same thing over and over. Just race track after race track. Even something that big becomes dull if you don’t mix it up a bit.”

That was my stupid, grey-drenched mistake.

“You’re telling me I need a _hobby_?” Cunningham asks, incredulous.

I toss my ponytail back over my shoulder. “I’m telling you you need an _adventure_,” I correct. “You’re living in a house a suburban mom would love to have when you could easily afford a mansion.” Cunningham’s eye twitches. Bad topic, then. I stow it away for later; this isn’t the time to piss him off. “You have money sitting around that’s just collecting dust otherwise.”

“I donate.” As if he needs to defend himself to me. I send money to my brothers, but that doesn’t make much of a dent in the long run.

“Good, you’re a boring altruist,” I drawl, teasing a lock of hair between my fingers. “Tell me something: when’s the last time you can say you had _fun_?”

There’s a heartbeat of hesitation. “When I’m racing—”

“And how often does that happen?” I lock Cunningham in an even stare. He’s determined not to look away from me, and that makes it so much easier to catch his vulnerability. I hear sobbing from the television. “Not often enough, right? Those highs are flashes of color, but everything else is a drab monochrome. So why not let me squirt some paint on that lifeless canvas of yours?”

Cunningham stands, anger flickering in his eyes. I widen my stance and prop my hands on my hips, refusing to budge. Our glares meet while the film characters talk, their words so unimportant they might as well be mumbling. I catch a glance of Cunningham clenching his fists. The rest of his stance doesn’t keep up, but I reevaluate my escape routes, which involve either jumping off the couch or knocking the Mexican dinner spread clean off the table.

“What if you can’t do it?”

I blink. “What?”

Cunningham tucks a hand into his pocket with a confident smirk. “If you’re so sure you can do it, you won’t mind a little consequence if you fail, right?”

I check myself before agreeing to something dumb. No matter how fun this is, no matter what stupid lengths I’m willing to go to for a thrill, those are my choices. I don’t dive into situations blind. It’s how I’ve made it this far. Movement flashes across on the TV screen in my peripheral. “What did you have in mind?”

“It’s simple,” Cunningham says, his tone almost light and airy. If he’s enjoying this as much as I am, we’re close to checkmate. This should be the last hurdle. “If you manage to make me enjoy myself or whatever, then I’ll play along. You don’t manage that or try anything funny in the process, and I’ll call the cops. I’m sure they’ll find how you got into the IGPX hangars without getting caught to be very interesting.”

_You don’t have any proof,_ I almost snap, but stop those words, too. _No, Mariya is my trump card. And she’ll make me wish I was arrested if I out her._ Let him think he has an advantage. I’ll just have to make preparations if things go south.

And if they don’t and I enjoy myself a little? That’ll be more than I can ask for at this point.

“Alright,” I agree, meeting his smirk with one of my own. “Then I’ll be sure to take care of you before the off-season is over.” That gives me several months to work with. Piece of cake. “You’ll be enjoying yourself in no time, Alexander.”

This time when Cunningham grimaces, he almost looks embarrassed. “Okay, if you’re going to be hanging around, then you definitely can’t call me that.” I snicker a bit. “Come on, sit down, will ya? You’re blocking the way to the food.”

“Well of course.” I dip into a bow then hop back onto my seat. I retrieve my plate and a handful of chips, craving the burn of salsa. Back in the movie, I don’t even recognize half the characters on screen. They’re pretty generic, so they must be sacrifices for the upcoming body count. “Geez, what the hell’s even going on anymore?”

“They’re traveling to pursue the man who killed the protagonist’s family,” Cunningham supplies whilst forking a serving of carnitas to his plate. Great, revenge plotting. Should’ve expected. “At this point, they’ve figured out he has his own men, they just don’t know how to fight him.”

“Riiight,” I drawl. Someone’s watched this movie too many times. Well, what he likes is what he likes. I crunch through my chips and the faint burn of salsa for a few minutes, trying to re-immerse myself in the film, but I keep flicking glances to Cunningham instead, curiosity crawling up my vocal chords. “Hey. Are you serious about this whole deal?”

Cunningham, hunched towards the screen, looks back to me. “Well, I can’t eat all this food by myself,” he says, gesturing his meat-tipped fork to the table. “And you’re not the only one who can’t back down from a challenge.”

He returns his attention to the movie, and I smile a little bit to myself. If this keeps up, things might just be exciting after all.


	7. 6 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_6 mph_

* * *

_“…so, yeah, I think all my classes are going good.”_ I hum into the phone as Nathan finishes explaining his current college curriculum. He’s studying engineering, though he hasn’t said whether or not he’s trying to work for an IGPX team or not. As an older sister who skipped over secondary education, I have enough pride in my brother to overtake the rest of the seven deadly sins. _“What about you, Sis? What new and exciting things have you gotten into lately? Break any bones again?”_

“Hey now,” I chide with a grimace. A hot desert’s breeze blows across the balcony, setting off the delicate tinkle of my wind chimes. Being on the top floor, my seat has a fantastic view of the city and even the wastelands beyond it. “I haven’t been up to too much. Nothing wild.”

Nathan snorts into the phone. _“Sorry, static.”_ Little shit. Ever since he found out phones decades ago had signal trouble… _“But let’s get real here,” _he continues, _“you have never sat still in your life. What kind of trouble are you really up to? Are you not telling me because Dad would flip his shit if he found out? Come on, I can keep a secret.”_

“Whoa there, easy boy.” Nathan and I are very much cut from our mother’s cloth: too much energy to have anything reasonable to do with it. I lean back in my deck chair, enjoying the kiss of sun on my skin. I used to be so _tan_; all being lazy has left me with is a complexion whiter than plain yogurt. “I’ve been making plans. I’ve made a new friend recently, and I’m going to have a great time teaching the definition of ‘fun.’” I grin just thinking about it.

_“Huh. So you_ can_ make friends.” _Mariya would be offended. I roll my eyes and squint into the sky. Shoulda brought my sunglasses out. _“Don’t go too hard on her, okay? You don’t want so scare someone off that’ll actually hang around you.”_

Clouds drift across the open sky. “Don’t you worry,” I assure. “This guy can handle a little rush. If he’s scared off so easily, it’s not my fault.” Wait, if I scare him, would that mean he loses, I lose, or it’s a draw? I’ll have to check.

Nathan is silent for far longer than a polite pause would allow. I listen hard. There’s no one else talking on the other side, either. I count the seconds, and after seventeen Nathan clears his throat.

_“So,”_ he says, _“you’re seeing a guy.”_

If I had been taking a drink, I would have choked on it. Even still, I make an undignified sound in my throat, which spirals into a coughing fit. I haul myself up to my feet and retreat inside the condo’s air conditioning for a bottle of water.

“Are you stupid?” I wheeze out. I thump my chest, salvaging my voice. Nathan snickers. “I don’t date, Nathan, and you know that. Besides, Dad would have a conniption even if I did.” I wonder how Cunningham would take it if I suggested it, though? _Probably get your ass arrested, is what. Eyes on the prize._

_“Come on.”_ Nathan’s still very much snickering. Instead of reaching for an insult, I chug through a bottle, water ice cold from the fridge. _“If a guy could keep up with your thrill-seeking nonsense, you can’t tell me it wouldn’t be a good match.”_

“Yeah, and have him throw a fit when I don’t let him ‘thrill seek’ in me? Been there, done that, never trying it again.” Not that Cunningham seems like he would be so petty, but plenty of guys out there are. “I’m happy staying single if that’s what it takes.”

I crumble up my bottle and toss it in recycling. _“Alright,”_ Nathan relents. _“But this new ‘friend’ of yours have a name?”_

There’s a split second where I debate between lie and truth. The former wins. “Cunningham Hume.” Nathan stammers, but I press forward. “How’s Caleb’s driving coming along? Dad ready to tear out his hair yet?”

_“You mean what little hair he has left?”_ Nathan teases. We share a laugh at the expense of our father. I’ll get it for not continuing the conversation next time I head home, but that’s okay. _“Well, Kir, after having to make sure you didn’t get pulled over every five-hundred feet, I’d say Caleb’s a welcome relief.”_ Part of me feels bad for being such a stress for Dad; the other has too many fond memories to regret it for long. _“I drove with him when I went back for my last break. He’s doing well.”_

“That’s good.” Back outside, I head up to the railing and lean against it, smiling into the next passing wind. I may not have been the best role model, but I’m glad my baby bros are doing well. “And Dad…?”

Nathan’s next hesitation is enough to drop my mood and my smile. I feel a ridge forming between my eyebrows. Nathan inhales and exhales—some deep breathing technique he uses to calm down. _“He’s carrying on,”_ Nate says. For the first time our conversation, he sounds like my _little_ brother again and not the confident young man he’s grown to be. _“The doctors’ say his condition isn’t worsening, so that’s a plus. But he hasn’t slowed down at work like they say he should.”_

I sigh. If there’s anyone who can out stubborn me, it’s Dad. It’s a wonder I turned out the way I did. “As long as he’s stable, it’s okay for now.” _But how long can he stay stable? What if he pushes too far again? What if—_Nathan can’t see it, but I smile, hoping it’ll help the tone of my voice. As the oldest, I need to stay strong when my family needs it, and boy do we need it. “If you or Caleb notices him getting exhausted, you can call an ambulance for him. Or if you don’t want to, tell me, and _I’ll_ call an ambulance for him.” Far out on the horizon, I catch sight of storm clouds in the distance. Good thing we’re heading out of town today. “Don’t worry, Nate. Tailors are strong. Dad’ll make it through this, no trouble at all.”

Nathan breathes again, and his next words sound a bit more cheerful. _“You’re right. Thanks, Kir.”_ My smile feels a bit more real, despite myself. What a good kid. _“Hey, you are coming back home for my birthday, right? You promised, you promised.”_

“Of course I’ll be there.” It’ll take a day away from the ‘Get Cunningham not to Out Me to the Police’ initiative, but it’ll be worth it. He might even have practice that day. I’ll compare notes. “I’ll bring you something awesome, too, so don’t fuss. Just take care of yourself ‘til then, alright?”

_“You, too. Ah, whoops.”_ Something clatters from Nathan’s end. _“I gotta meet up with a group to discuss a project for lunch, so I gotta go.”_

I nod, then remember my brother can’t see it. “No prob. I’ve got somewhere to be soon, too, so I’ll let you go.”

The racket of Nathan collecting his gear pauses. _“Somewhere with Cunningham Hume?” _he tries.

“Aren’t you going to be late, brother dear?”

Nathan curses and hangs up the phone.

* * *

It’s just an hour’s flight to the California coastline. It’s almost a bit excessive to have taken first class, but there’s nothing wrong with traveling in style. Cunningham sits in the deluxe seat across from me, looking mighty uncomfortable. How is a mystery, because this seat is almost as glorious as his couch. I munch on my breakfast snack, a delightful and crunchy biscotti. The coffee is to die for, too. Cunningham hasn’t touched his plate.

“I can’t believe you’re taking me to the beach,” he deadpans.

“Scuba diving,” I remind him, between sips of coffee. I’m starting to get a little pumped, and I don’t care if it’s just from the caffeine. “There’s a great view of a sunken ship at where we’re going. Of course, if that doesn’t interest you, we can always go surfing.” I shrug. A stewardess passes by and takes my by now empty plate. “Oceans are great, and I haven’t been to one in over a year, so it’s a good opportunity.”

Cunningham asks for a water to pair with his coffee and waits for the stewardess to retreat further down the aisle. “Shipwreck, huh?” He’s no good at hiding the interest in his voice. “You’ve been this way before?”

I swirl coffee in its mug, letting some of the heat out. “Nah. Last time I went scuba diving I went to this place that had octopi. Cool stuff.” So many legs, too. “That place is in the same area if you’re interested, but I’d rather have a new experience for the both of us.”

“I’m not the one with something at stake here,” Cunningham says, raising his coffee to his lips. Touché. His amusement trades out for seriousness. I’ve seen it handful of times and I already hate the expression. “We are coming back this evening, right? I do have practice tomorrow, you know.”

_Yes, I know all about your silly schedule._ I put on a smile as the stewardess returns with Cunningham’s requested water. She pauses a bit and studies the man, as if trying to decide if he’s who she thinks he is. I don’t blame her; without his racing gear, he looks rather plain. I smirk a little and raise my voice just enough. “Man, you guys sure don’t know the definition of _off_ season, do you? You’d think after all the racing you’d at least get a vacation.”

The stewardess catches onto my words, missing the low glare Cunningham shoots at me. I keep my expression casual. “Well,” I continue, “I guess all that work’s why you guys do so well, huh, Cunningham?”

The stewardess’s eyes go wider than the plate she served our biscotti on. A guy in the seat behind Cunningham cranes his neck a bit to try and sneak a peek behind him. A few offhand mutters go through the cabin. “Um,” the stewardess says, starting to blush, “I’m sorry, sir, but if you don’t mind—”

Cunningham’s already converting his napkin into a quick autograph opportunity. I prop my chin on my hands and watch. His brow’s furrowed a bit, even if he smooths out his expression when looking up to the woman. “Here, Grace,” he says, handing her the napkin. I didn’t even notice her nametag. “Thanks for all your great service today. You mind keeping this hush-hush? I’m taking a mini vacation, so I don’t want much trouble.”

“Yes, of course!” Grace clutches the napkin to her chest before tucking it into her vest pocket. I’ve seen druggies mid-high who look less blissful. “Ah, I’m sorry, I need to attend to the rest of the flight. Thank you very much!” She scurries to her cart again, pencil skirt straining as she rolls away. Cunningham checks that the passengers across from us are still immersed in their work before staring me down.

“Do you get off on causing trouble for others or what?”

I snicker into my hand. “Oh, lighten up. I was just curious how you’d handle it.” As expected, his smile had been weak, his tone near bored save for the slightest traces of courtesy. It’s a mechanical action, one he hates. “Besides, you’ve probably made that girls’ week. No harm no foul.” I decide not to mention the man behind him standing up a bit, phone at the ready to take a picture. I smile and wave for the camera, and Cunningham whirls around just as the digital shutter clicks.

Another apology and autograph session later (this one in the man’s business planner), Cunningham downs both his coffee and water in short succession.

“You are getting very close to being much more trouble than you are worth,” he grumbles.

I pull out my phone and snap a photo of my own, capturing Cunningham’s disgruntled glare in memory.


	8. 7 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_7 mph_

* * *

I made a reservation through the dive park, but that was for the afternoon. Even though it’s warm on the coast, midday waters are more pleasant to submerge in, even if just a little. But Cunningham’s never gone underwater like that before, so he’s taking a crash course in using a rebreather. I sit on the poolside with my feet in the water, already readjusted to the sensation of breathing underwater.

Being an impulse trip, we’re both in rental full body dive suits. Cunningham seems to be doing well enough, coming up for air much less than his other crash course mates. No one in the small group seems to recognize him, or maybe they’re just too distracted by not drowning to notice.

Cunningham reemerges and chats with his dive instructor. Water weighs his dark hair down, but it still maintains some volume. Despite all his baggy clothes, Cunningham has a pretty lean figure from all his working out. I figured as much from his mech suit, but the swim wear makes it plenty obvious.

I kick my feet in gentle arcs and watch the ripples skate across the water. An opposing set of ripples pulses towards me, faint waves dispelling the chlorinated water. Cunningham tucks an elbow over the edge of the pool to my side. “She said I should be good to go,” he reports, tugging the goggles away from his face. Water laps against my thighs. “I’m sure it’ll be different underwater but…well, we’re on a tight schedule, huh?”

“Once your body adjusts to needing oxygen, you’ll be fine,” I say by way of assurance. A fly buzzes past and I flick water at it to scare it off. I check my phone. “We still have a few hours. We could do the boring thing and sightsee, or we can find somewhere cool to eat lunch at.”

Cunningham raises an eyebrow, water still dripping off his chin. “What do you consider cool?”

I splash him in the face and stand up, feet slapping against the concrete. “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever eaten?”

* * *

I’ve done a lot of things in my life centered around the concept of trying new things. When you have a lot of money and you wanna break the routine, travel comes to mind. I spent the whole year following my big bank breakthrough traveling to every country I could think of. Hell, I’ve backpacked across multiple continents. Thus, I’ve tried my fair share of food, often from the source country itself.

Good Cambodian restaurants are hard to find, but I’m glad to live in a time of such cultural crossover. IGPX City takes the cake in the number of nationalities it attracts, but other cities don’t do bad, either.

Which is how I get the pleasure of taking a photo of Cunningham Hume looking disgusted while staring down a fried tarantula.

The restaurant hasn’t hit its lunch rush yet, but a few clusters of regulars chatter at the tables. The whole place smells like a distilled wood grill. The furnishings look like they’ve seen the worst of the past half a century and don’t match each other in the slightest, but I think the furniture blow out sale look feels natural.

“You _can’t_ be serious,” Cunningham near growls once our server is out of earshot. Was it that rich upbringing that made him so polite in public?

“What?” I put every air of innocence into my words. “Bugs and the like are pretty common foods in a number of countries. Japan makes some awesome wasp crackers.” Cunningham’s face further twists as he tries to put the two words together. I’ll be sure to tell Nate that Cunningham Hume doesn’t like adventure. I break off a tarantula leg, and he looks away as I bite the crispy end off like a French fry. “Come on; don’t be such a pussy.”

Cunningham sorts through the layers of his green mango salad, as if fruit flies are going to buzz out when he’s not looking. “You can have your weird bug food all you like,” he says, stabbing through a piece of fruit with his fork. “I am going to have a somewhat exotic but perfectly normal meal.”

He doesn’t respond to petty taunts. That’s no fun. I put on a mock pout and gesture to my actual entre. “Lort Cha is not made of bugs,” I protest. “It is a perfectly respectful vegetable and noodle dish.” To prove my point, I poke at the egg on top, letting the yolk run over the rest of the plate. Excellent.

“The noodles look like they could be worms.”

I snort. “Don’t be an ass.”

Cunningham has an easy smirk for all of two seconds—the amount of time it takes us both to realize we’re enjoying ourselves a bit too much and start on our meals. This is a wager after all. A foreign vocalist warbles out words I can’t understand from a radio on the side. Slurping up noodles gets old fast, so I swallow my latest bite and pick up conversation.

“So you’re really not even going to _try_ the tarantula?”

With the most frustrating topic for him as possible.

His latest bite crunches through a carrot loud enough for me to hear. If I’m not careful, I might make him queasy. Might be worth it to make a celebrity throw up. “Are you going to bring it up all meal if I don’t?”

I grin. Smart man.

Cunningham groans and goes back to eyeing the spider, jet black and crispy against the white plate. I pluck off another leg and smear it through the accompanying sauce. “Take whichever bit you like. The head’s good for beginners. I’ve got dibs on the abdomen, though.”

It seems the idea of eating something while it stares back at him is too much, as Cunningham snaps off half a tarantula leg, pinched between two fingers. I munch through my own, keeping track on his progress. Growing up with little brothers taught me all the silly ways people can slip food off the table without being eaten. But Cunningham glares down the piece of tarantula before closing his eyes and popping the bite into his mouth.

As he chews, Cunningham’s disgust fades out. I watch on all the way until he swallows. Cunningham opens his eyes and nods. “I didn’t expect it to taste so…”

“Edible?” I offer, amused. Cunningham hushes me, even though no one’s paying attention to the two tourists in the room.

“Normal,” the man corrects, taking a drink from his iced coffee. “I was going to say normal.” I shrug and go back to my Lort Cha, retrieving bean sprouts with my chopsticks. “I mean it’s different but…not gross or anything.”

I snicker. “Did you think this was a prank or something?”

Ice cubes rattle as Cunningham sets down his drink. “Maybe.”

I lean back in my chair, soy and fish sauces mingling in my mouth. “Trust me, if I wanted to play a prank on you, it’d be a lot more interesting than this. I mean, I know where you live. Not the area I was expecting, by the way.”

“That’s the point,” Cunningham says, looking a bit miffed. “Big fancy places are too big for whoever stays in them.” Having gone from an apartment in New York to my nice condo, I may not have much room to chime in. But I don’t think I could live in some big fancy house, either. Not by myself. “Where do you live anyway?”

Aha, there’s the distrust that was missing. I know too much about him; that can make anybody uncomfortable. Doesn’t mean I’ll let him even the playing field. “Hm,” I muse, “somewhere nice with plenty of space and wonderful security.” That doesn’t narrow the options down by much, plus Mariya’s just as good as hiding information as she is at digging it up. “Maybe I’ll invite you over someday. Or maybe pigs will fly.”

“Well, if nothing else you’ve gotten me to eat spider,” Cunningham considers, “so who knows what’ll happen.”

I flick a broken off tarantula leg onto Cunningham’s plate and watch him try to figure out just what to do with it.

* * *

The fresh ocean air breaks over the boat in sea salt breezes. Other diving trip participants chat in groups of two or three. In consideration of Cunningham’s skill, we’re in a very basic group with a couple of instructors to help keep everyone in check. A couple of people even have their kids with them. Maybe next time Dad can take a vacation, I should bring Nate and Caleb out to a place like this. Caleb would love it.

One of the guides calls everyone together for a review of underwater hand signals. I observe long enough to put the pieces back in my brain and make sure I know how these folks like air level indicators: point the thousands number at your wrist, then the hundreds separate. Leaning against the railing, I watch the water race past.

We still have ten minutes until we reach our dive sight, the sunken ruins waiting below. Back to shore, specks of people clamber over the beaches, trying to squeeze the rest of the good weather for what it’s worth. Someone’s surfboard shoots up into the air as they wipe out. Out to sea, water stretches on and the few boats speckled across the water seem just as distant as the land.

“You sure have a habit of not listening when people talk to you, don’t you?” Cunningham remarks, his flippers slapping against the boat with each step my way. I spin around, propped up on the railing still with my elbows. “Are you even having any fun dragging me into this mess?”

“It’s not a mess; it’s an _experience._ And I’m having loads of fun.” In relative comparison to the past several months. I can’t believe how much time I wasted moping like an idiot. And all the action of the day has kept my thoughts occupied. “I’ll be having even more fun when we’re underwater and I don’t have to hear you nag me every five minutes.”

“Funny, I was thinking it’d be a relief to keep you from suggesting anything outlandish.”

I quirk a bow. “_This_ is outlandish to you?” I ask, spreading my arms out. A boat in the ocean may not be common, but it’s still a plain and monotonous state. “Oh no, oh no, Cunningham. This ain’t nothin’. If you want outlandish, I’ll be sure to try harder next time. You’ll be in for a treat.”

“Oh yeah?” Cunningham gives in and leans on the railing with me, gazing up to the sky. It’s clear, bringing down the perfect amount of sun to light the waters below. “Is this treat another spider? I think I’ll pass.”

“It’s a surprise,” I say, tapping a finger to my lips. The dive suit presses plush against my mouth. “Though if you insist I’m sure I can arrange more spiders.” Cunningham’s face pales just a bit. A laugh and pat him on the shoulder before heading over to the tightening gathering of our fellow divers. “Come on, they’re ready to fit us up with our rebreathers and air tanks.”

Cunningham falls into line with me as our guides show each of us how to attach our tanks and harnesses, plus check that our rebreathers are in and the whole shindig is fastened. There’s the standard reminders to check our air gauges often and to stick with the group. One of the kids looks worried, but a boy beside him holds her hand in reassurance. I double check my own gear once more and check over Cunningham’s before putting on my goggles.

We’re lined up by twos in our buddy pairs and head to the edge of the deck, waiting for the boat to slow. It comes to a rest and the captain drops anchor. Satisfied, the first guide drops feet first into the water, their head popping back up over the surface while the second starts to urge the other pairs to follow.

I give Cunningham the best challenging look I can muster with a rebreather between my teeth as we approach the edge, and then we plunge on in.


	9. 8 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_8 mph_

* * *

The water closes around me in a cold cocoon of liquid sensation, but I keep my eyes open. Making sure to breathe through my mouth and not my nose, I can see the well-lit waters blur into near black below. Cunningham plunges down into the water beside me, taking a moment to stabilize. I flash him an okay signal, than point a thumb up to the surface—a reminder that we need to move out of the way for the rest of our party and reconvene above water for further instruction.

Cunningham’s hand starts to form a thumbs up, then he remembers to make the “okay” signal instead. He kicks his legs and I do the same, making sure to keep my pace even and not too rushed. Water pushes resistance against my flippers, but soon my head’s back up in regular air. Cunningham breaks the surface a few feet away from me, and we join the group gathered around our guide several meters away from the ship.

A few more splashes follow behind us, the last being the second dive guide. The two employees ask about how everyone’s doing so far. I notice a teenage girl looking nervous. The kids from before seem okay, their small hands clasped underneath the water. Cunningham nods his steady condition, looking just as home in the water as he does driving a massive robot at two-hundred miles an hour. It would’ve been funnier if he couldn’t swim well.

I tread water and let my body adjust to the feeling. Though it’s been some time since I went any form of swimming, let alone diving, my arms and legs keep just the right pace to not strain themselves against the water. Seagulls cry as they fly overhead. The ocean is at peace, but it’s not any means boring. It’s a place full of potential dangers, ready to tip over any second.

Out of consideration for many of the first-timers’ already frazzled nerves, the dive guides don’t list as many worries as they could. They give reminders to keep an eye on our air level again, to stick with at least one partner, to not touch any wildlife, and to not wonder too far from the dive area, marked with underwater buoys.

“Anyone who wants to adjust a little more to being underwater can stay here with me,” the male instructor is saying. “Those with a bit more experience can go and head down with Jennifer.” His colleague waves and swims a bit away, leaving space for the groups to separate. “If she sees any complications, she may send you back up for a bit, but you’ll all be able to check out the ship. We have a couple of hours here, after all, so let’s make sure we’re all safe and have a good time!”

The small pair of children almost swim to Jennifer’s side, but their guardians keep them back. The teenager stays behind with who I guess is her girlfriend, keeping a reassuring arm around her shoulder. My first instinct is to dive under already, but I glance over to Cunningham. He has the less experience here, so it’s his call, as much as I hate to admit it.

Cunningham’s long arm cuts through the water as he swims towards Jennifer. My reach isn’t as long as his, but I keep pace without much trouble. Jennifer counts our heads and moves us farther from the practice group so instructions don’t overlap. “Okay, the _Emerald R._ is about one-hundred feet down. You should know you’ll have to adjust to the pressure. We’ll circle the outside of the wreck first, then head inside the accessible chambers. Everyone, check your lights real fast.” She flashes her own dive light once. A few button clicks later and all party members have blinded the person next to them. “Right, we’re gonna head down slow, so get ready.”

There’s a rustle as everyone adjusts their gear one last time. As soon as Jennifer’s head disappears beneath water, I head below, too, adjusting my body to the change in rhythm breathing. My airflow sends loud tremors through my ears as ocean fills them. The image of ocean peace is not an accurate one, at least until your brain stops registering the sound of your breathing.

I sink down a bit deeper than Jennifer’s set depth but no further. Our collection of nine divers all acclimate to the water at their own paces, highlights in their wet suits helping them stand out against the water. Cunningham takes a few wobbling kicks before he gets the hang of downward motion and comes to a rest beside me.

Another okay signal. So far so good.

I spin in a slow circle, trying to make sense of the layout. None of the dive area markers are in sight, which means we have a decent amount of space. Underneath the gloom of the water, I can see the _Emerald R._ sitting at the bottom of the ocean. I may not know a lot about old military boats, but it looks impressive enough, though I know it’s not the biggest ship this dive site has to offer.

Cunningham taps my shoulder and points to Jennifer and the others, already sinking deeper into the water. We trade off thumbs down motions and follow. Bubbles stream from our rebreathers, releasing unusable air. Cunningham’s wild hair looks like a clump of swaying seaweed as he swims.

The deeper we go down, the water gives way to light very easy. A school of small, shiny fish race past our left-hand side. Sand and ocean flora blend in a dark-light contrast on the ground, all overshadowed by the naval haul, sunken to the floor over a century ago. The online brochure mentioned that it’s not even two-hundred feet in length, but it’s hard to stare down a boat that could cover half the length of a football field and consider it small.

The paint job would have been a bright white back in its glory days. Now, time and rust and sea life make that impossible, anemones of every shape adorning the surface, from the prow to the decks to the masts. The whole boat has been transformed into a living creature, no longer bound to the aboveground concept of inanimate.

Without any peripheral vision, I have to turn my head to see Cunningham, still in the water. His own goggles block me from reading his eyes, but I can recognize a stunned awe in his relaxed body language. I itch to move closer to the ship, but I’m not stupid enough to head deeper underwater without a partner to spot me.

Jennifer points one finger to herself and moves it in a horizontal line, then points her other hand at us and trails it after the first—_follow me_. I stop watching Cunningham before he notices and keep up with instructions. As promised, Jennifer draws us around the boat in a slow circle, making frequent pauses for the group to gape at a particular plant arrangement or passing sea animal. Eels flick past us in dark streaks, crabs scuttle across the deck, and we even catch a glimpse of a turtle, far in the distance.

Once done on the outside, Jennifer leads us to the crack in the hull that sunk the ship in the first place. Currents have pushed the gap open further to whole wide enough for us to pass through in pairs. Higher in the water, the practice group is descending to our level.

Everyone’s lights turn on as the windows are too clouded with plants and algae to let in any sunshine. There are a number of shells near the entrance, and some retreat as we approach. I’ve long gotten used to my breathing and the water gives no sound other than us moving through it, too slow to make much of a racket. I want to reach out, to press my palm into the waiting moss on the walls, but I keep them to myself.

A lot of the furniture and doors are deteriorated beyond recognition, wood that was never meant to be submerged under water for decades. Metal structures, such as the engine rooms downstairs, still hold their shape but none of their power. What was once a protective vessel built for speed, now nothing more than a quaint and stationary underwater tourist attraction.

I hope I pass long before I become so unable to move all I’m good for is getting stared at. But at least it’s pretty.

And Cunningham’s just as into exploring the crevices of the ship as everyone else is, so I’ll count today as a victory.

* * *

I take pity on Cunningham and allow him to pick the food for our post-underwater snack. He chooses fast food sandwiches, and I’m amazed again at how ordinary he us. Then again, I order cheapo take out due to sheer habit myself, so maybe I’m being silly.

_It could just be me, but I think he’s trying really hard to act like he’s not rich._

Even so, with food in our bellies and a few hours until our return flight, we have time to kill. Cunningham passes on the offer to head underwater again, so we take up one of my childhood pastimes: wandering around unfamiliar territory without the slightest idea of where we’re going. I lead the charge through dirty alleyways, across beachside boardwalks, and residential neighborhoods. My spoils for the day include several pictures of passing animals, plus having taught a kid how to not fall over when attempting flips on a skateboard.

It’s all rather mundane, but anything is more interesting than the walls of my penthouse, over and over. Cunningham seems a bit more relaxed than the morning when we board the plane home, and I decide to not out his identity to the stewardess when she brings us our portions of glorified snack mix.

I’ll be damned if the pretzel and nuts don’t taste divine, though, served in their little glass bowls. First class is the way to go, no doubt.

“You look pleased with yourself,” Cunningham remarks, peeling open a banana from the fresh fruit platter. “Over confidence is most often a talented person’s downfall.”

I wonder if he’s talking about his losses from the past two seasons—all at the hands of Team Satomi. I put on a humble smile (which is harder than it should be) and gush, “Oh, you think I’m talented? You honor me.”

“Oh, you’re something alright,” the man deadpans, dropping a stray banana string onto his napkin. “I just can’t decide whether _ridiculous_ or _eccentric_ fits better.”

“I’ve always preferred _unconventional_.” Finished stuffing my face with the best trail mix I’ll ever eat, I press my nail into the peel of my orange, cutting out a circle. Juice starts to ooze over my fingers and the citrus smell hangs around me, covering up the sea salt embedded into my hair. The first order of business upon returning home is to take a shower. “What about you? Do you prefer _stubborn_ or _hard-ass_?”

“_Determined._” Well, someone doesn’t miss a beat. He adjusted to the water far better than I expected, too, for someone who’s never claimed to have gone diving before. His first tenures in IG-3 and IG-2 were both undefeated, too, right, not to mention all the accomplishments in his education records.

_What an over-talented guy. Can you really be so bored when you’re good at so much?_

I enjoy competition, but it’s never been about winning for me. The rush of the action is more than enough, when it comes. Sure, skill helps you enjoy yourself more, but as I’ve never stuck to one thing long enough, maybe I can’t emphasize with his condition.

Not that I want to. Monochrome is enough of an issue for me.

I dump the assembled orange peels into my now empty drink cup and pop a slice in my mouth. “Well, now that I have a decent idea of what you’re capable of, I have some good ideas for next time. You’re free in three days, right?” Cunningham gets caught up in the decision of asking what I’ve decided and how the hell I knew that. I’ll let him wonder on both counts. “That being said…”

I lick orange juice from my fingers and toggle with my phone, purchase receipts from today on the screen before I toss it to Cunningham. He manages to catch it with a single hand, banana still aloft in the other.

“…I’d like reimbursement for your entertainment fees today,” I say, “though if you’re a gentleman you’ll cover the both of us.”


	10. 9 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_9 mph_

* * *

I’m not even awake the next day and my phone’s already buzzing. There’s no such thing as jetlag on a one day trip, but the slight ache in my body hasn’t faded. I didn’t gain much weight during my inactive period, but my muscles are aware they haven’t been used for anything akin to physical activity for a few months.

Which is part of the other reason I took it so slow and went diving first, but Cunningham doesn’t need to know that.

My phone vibrates so much that it slides across my nightstand and bumps against the wall, intensifying the buzz. I roll over and try to ignore it—_How long has it been going? It can’t ring forever_—but it buzzes and buzzes and buzzes, not even triggering into voice mail.

I slap a hand to my nightstand, grope for my phone, and answer while burrowing back under the blankets. “_Mariya._”

_“And good morning to you, too, Kirsten!”_

I don’t bother to cover up my disgusted sigh. It’s too early for this. I’m not awake enough, and all sorts of other excuses. I was having a dream about hanging out with some dumb cartoon character I liked as a kid; can’t I go back to that?

I grumble, “Isn’t it too early for you to be awake?”

_“Um, no? I just woke up, right on time.”_ I bolt up in bed and check the time. Sure enough, it’s evening already, but not quite sunset. I slept through a whole day? Sure, I didn’t go to bed right away when I got home, but… _“Have you been sleeping, too? Aw, sweetie, I know you took a trip yesterday, but you shouldn’t be that worn out!”_

I may be groggy, but I’m not out of it enough to not catch Mariya’s slip up. “Okay, _sweetie_, is there a reason you’re stalking me now?” I like to think my lack of energy makes my voice sound even more fed up than usual.

_“Ah, pet names are the best!”_ Mariya gushes. I close my eyes and massage my temples. _She may be smart, but she’s just a kid, she may be smart, but she’s just a kid…_ _“But to answer your question, I’m _super_ bored, okay? Like, sure, I have work, but the jobs are all child’s play! And the only interesting job I have is, well, it takes a long time for my hacking to gain a response, so it’s suuuch a drag waiting. So I figured I’d check on you and Mr. Hume instead.”_

And her definition of “check on” means finding out our travel schedules.

“For such a private person, you have no sense of personal space.”

_“You’re free to invade my personal space in return!”_

There is no correct way to respond to that so I hold my silence. I can feel a headache coming on already. _That’s what I get for oversleeping. Should’ve set an alarm._

_“But, no,”_ Mariya says, reading at least a little bit of the atmosphere, _“I just wanted to make sure you were feeling better. Getting all mopey-mopey isn’t like you. I was worried, you know!”_

I swing my feet over the edge of the bed and force myself to stand. I may have showered when I got back the day before, but lying around all day makes me feel gross all over again. I still smell like ocean anyways. “Other than your disturbing knowledge of my travel itineraries, I’m fine.” Not perfect, and everything looks as dull as ever, but I feel a bit different. “Moving around is just what I needed. And I might have something for you to do later, okay?”

Mariya cheers her understanding. I flick on the light in the bathroom and start the shower running.

_“Ah, darn it,”_ Mariya mutters._ “Sorry, Kirsten, work calls. I’ll check in on that errand later, aight? Mariya out!”_

Before I can get a farewell in edgewise, Mariya’s ended the call. I shrug and set my phone on the counter, stretching as I undress. I may have wasted the day, but there’s still the evening.

Cunningham won’t appreciate it if I break into his house in the middle of the night, but that doesn’t mean I can’t plan for when I drag him out again.

* * *

The next few weeks form a routine: Cunningham has his practice days, and I use those to rest, plan, and start getting real exercise again. And when Cunningham’s not practicing, I pick the activity of the day and off we go, whether that means skydiving or bungee jumping or mountain climbing. You name a wacky and expensive thing, and I can say with certainty I’ve done it or will be doing it with Cunningham Hume.

He’s not happy about it, at least the fact that I make him pay his half of the bill (and then some). Or that I call him Alexander on occasion. And that I make a point of breaking into his house in the mornings doesn’t help, either, no matter what breakfast I bring.

“Would you rather I cook for you instead?” I asked one morning.

“I’d rather you visit like a normal person,” he replied, but took the coffee anyway.

It’s a game we’ve come to play with each other. I see how far I can test his patience, and he sees how much he can snark me in return. But he still doesn’t call the cops, and we still come together. If there were such a thing as routine thrill seeking, we’d be doing it.

Every so often, he’ll give a hint of a smile, then wipe it away once he notices I’m looking. I caught it for the first time when we took a pit stop while mountain biking—stray ends of brown hair poking out from his helmet, green eyes filled with excitement, his form struck out in front of the blue sky beyond us. What a sight, that different side of him.

Then I called him a loser and bet I could get to the next checkpoint before him.

I have the privilege of saying I have beaten Cunningham, IGPX super star, in a race, and it one-hundred percent counts.

And overall, I’ve behaved myself on planes, in restaurants, with him in public in general, because starting that shit on my own would be far, far too obvious.

But if Mariya happens to spread a rumor, then that isn’t my fault whatsoever.

* * *

One of our days I suggest that we just explore IGPX City, and Cunningham takes the bait, thinking I’m going easy on him. And for a few hours I do—until Mariya drops some intel on the net. After that all it takes is me tossing out “Cunningham” in casual conversation and boom: instant fan riot. Cunningham himself reacts more spectacularly than I imagined and hightails it into cover behind a building corner, dragging me along behind him.

“Hey, did you see which way he went?”

“I think he headed down the street, towards that arcade place?”

“Well we won’t find him just standing here.”

“Okay, team, break!”

It seems that IGPX fans of all shape and size can be well coordinated when they want. It’d be terrifying, if I wasn’t just a passerby, and if I didn’t think it’s hilarious. Cunningham shoves his palm against my mouth as I start to snicker and doesn’t move it away until the fan riot spreads out.

We’re downtown, in the shopping and entertainment district. As mentioned, there’s an arcade near here, plus more stores than even I could by with. Cunningham ducked us into a clothes boutique that couldn’t have picked on purpose, given that there’s a fair assortment of lingerie strewn about. It’s nice stuff, not that I’d ever have a use for it.

“If you were planning on asking me for a favor after today, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline,” I quip, tugging at a corner of fabric on the nearest rack, inspecting patterns in the pale lace.

“Oh, shut it,” Cunningham groans. The salesgirl at the back counter takes a wary look at us, then starts organizing already aligned boxes on the shelf behind her. “What the hell were they even on about? Some special event? Sir Hamgra doesn’t let us do dumb publicity stunts.”

I snicker again, moving on to a wall of shoes with heels too high to be practical. Still tasteful, but it’s funny what people think makes them look good. “Sounds like a rumor got out of hand to me,” I remark, because pointing it out lowers the chances of him noticing my involvement. “You guys haven’t had a publicity event all off-season. People might be getting reckless.”

Cunningham sighs and goes to lean on a clothing rack before remembering where he is. He shoves his hands in his pockets instead, though he doesn’t blush. “Not even a month and people are going nuts,” he grumbles. “Is just a little vacation too much to ask?”

“There, there,” I say, with little sincerity and a pat on the shoulder. It’s not often Cunningham looks tired, even after I’ve dragged him halfway around the world, but we haven’t even been out here two hours and he looks worse for wear than the time I took him shark diving. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of your fans, though. I’m sure they’re just trying to have some fun.”

_I’m _having fun at the very least.

“I don’t race for the fans,” Cunningham says, sounding so upset he’s might as well be washed out gray. He exhales and runs a hand through his hair. “Well, we’re not getting anywhere with me being so obvious. Let’s find some sunglasses or something and get on with it.” He strides to the door and puts his hand on the handle just as the glass swings open. Sharp reflexes save him from getting whacked in the face, but not from colliding with the two who have stumbled inside.

A pair, one boy and a dark-skinned girl, both teenagers and looking out of place. A moment later I recognize them as Team Satomi’s forward and defender: Takeshi Jin and Liz Ricarro.

Liz recovers first, dropping off an apology before realizing just where she is. And smacking Takeshi in the back of the head. “What the hell kind of joke is this, Takeshi?” she demands. “You think you’re funny or something?”

For talking tough, _her_ face is red, and so is her teammates’. “It was a mistake, honest!” he says, scrambling for any sort of semblance. Cunningham steps back out of their way to cast a glance out the window. I step up to his side, things looking clear enough out there. “I just found the first door that seemed like a good out and went for it. I was under pressure, okay?!”

_Whoops, they must’ve gotten caught up in the trouble. Oh, well._ “You two doing okay?” I ask, since Cunningham’s still scoping out the view. I jab a thumb into his forearm, though all I hit is muscle. “This guy had some trouble, too, so we’re trying to play it cool.”

“Huh? Cunningham?” Takeshi blinks, and even Liz stops trying to strangle her teammate in surprise. “You saw that out there? What the hell’s going on?”

It takes him a minute, but Cunningham registers the conversation. When he notices Takeshi, I can see an almost gentleness form in his smile, bringing the man to ease. I guess even though Satomi kicked Velshtein’s ass, they have a friendly rivalry. “I’m not sure, but I don’t plan to stick around to find out. As soon as the course is clear, we’re gonna split. You guys should, too.”

“Figures.” Takeshi slumps, not even his perpetual cowlick staying upright in the motion. What an empathetic guy. “Man, I was looking forward to trying out that new racing simulator at the arcade, but fat chance of that.”

“We’ll try another day, big guy,” Liz says, slipping her hand into his. What do you know, there are things even Mariya doesn’t have in her bag of intel. I can’t tell if she or Nate will freak out more over this piece of info. Liz locks her eyes onto me, her stance casual, but with just the slightest bit of suspicion. “So who’s your friend, Cunningham?” she asks, with just the right air that I can tell the impression she must get finding her fellow racer in a lingerie shop with a woman.

I can’t help it. I double over laughing hard enough to make my stomach hurt.

“She’s a friend,” Cunningham decides on, since _woman who keeps breaking into my property and is trying to teach me not to be such a stick in the mud_ is far too complicated, even for me. “Kirsten, I take it you recognize Takeshi and Liz?”

“Yeah,” I wheeze out, “nice to—_pfft_—meet you. Hahaha—”

The kids exchange glances and polite greetings. Cunningham sighs. “She’s had a long day.” This time, he jabs my side to catch my attention. “I’m canceling your plan for the day.” This is fine with me. Other than stirring up trouble, I didn’t have a real plan for today. “We’ll head back to my place and regroup. Get moving.”

I take a deep breath to get myself under control, though I still have a few giggles left in me. “Right-o,” I say, then toss a wave to the kids. “You two stay safe out there, okay? I’m sure it’ll calm down soon, though.”

Then I follow Cunningham’s hasty retreat out the door, leaving Takeshi and Liz looking just as confused when they came in in the first place.


	11. 10 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_10 mph_

* * *

I slip my pick into the front door lock but meet no resistance. Either he’s gotten used to me or realizes by now a lock won’t stop me. If this rate, I might end up with a key to his place before the end of the off season.

_…or maybe not._ Just the thought of something so ordinary makes me shudder. I put away the pick kit, open the door, lift up my load from the porch, and kick the entrance shut behind me. The thud echoes through the house, but there’s no shout of protest. I frown as I make my way into the kitchen. This isn’t right. He should be home today. Two days ago Team Velshtein had its newest press event to hold off another “incident”, yesterday was practice, and today we were supposed to meet. If he didn’t tell me plans changed, I’m going to be pissed. I put a bit more effort into today than just buying a ticket.

Resisting the urge to stake out his room, I set my load on the kitchen table and settle into a chair. It’s midmorning, and though Alexander’s personal routines aren’t as strict as the Sir Hamgra induced ones, he’s pretty regular.

Noticing myself fidgeting, I stand up to start the coffee pot instead. I almost consider leaving before I realize I wouldn’t have anything else to do. I can’t do today’s activity by myself—that would be a bust. _If I tried hard enough maybe Mariya would come along…?_

“Good morning, Kirsten.” I press the start button on the coffee pot and twirl around at the sound of Alexander’s voice. He’s not quite groggy, but there’s still a hint of tiredness in his voice. His hair’s still damp, but rising to the challenges of the day, and an undershirt shows off the muscle structure I’ve gotten used enough to thanks to sports gear.

“Good morning, Alexander,” I chirp with a wave. He still winces. “Nice to see you up. I made you coffee.”

“Are in the process of making me coffee,” he returns. “And do you gotta call me that? I’d rather not be called—”

My eye roll speaks volumes enough to cut his words off. It doesn’t stop Alexander from crossing over to pull creamer from the fridge, though. “I made a decision.” I put on my best smile. “I’m trying to connect to you on a personal level, here. You call me Kirsten, so I’m done with that silly alias of yours. Besides, if I call you that in public, we just end up with messes like the other day.” Never mind that was the collective fault of Mariya and I. My motto of _It’s fun the first time, dull the second_ applies here.

Alexander purses his lips but reaches above my head to retrieve a coffee cup. He pulls a second one down for me just as the pot gets brewing in earnest. I take a deep breath and enjoy the rich smell; it’s not so bad when rich guys have good taste in beans.

“Hm. So what’re we getting up to today?” Alexander passes the creamer to me, letting me pre-prep my own mug. He doesn’t sound amused by my logic, but the incident must have left enough of an impact on him that he doesn’t argue. We’ll go with emersion therapy, then. “Parachuting? Water skiing? Though you don’t look dressed for an adventure.”

“And you don’t look dressed at all,” I retort, jabbing at his side. Alexander tries to swipe back at me, but I spin out of the way, my skirt unfurling in the process. _Figures. He thinks it’s weird._ “I’m allowed to dress however I want. Besides, I don’t need to be active today. We—” I trounce over to the table and knock on the picnic basket I hauled in “—are going on a picnic today, A-lex-an-der.”

Alexander is too busy blinking he forgets to wince. “Wait, a _picnic_?” he says like my skirt is hiding some cybernetic enhancement beneath it. I like the disbelief in his eyes. It makes him look engaged with what’s going on. “Let me get this straight. You make me spend my money and my time going all around and doing all sorts of outlandish things, and today you wanna go on a picnic.” Alexander leans back on the counter and crosses his arms. “Forgive me if I’m not impressed.”

“Come on,” I whine. “The method for all of this is to go and do things we’ve never done before. Well I’ve never been on a picnic with a boy before, and I can almost guarantee that you’ve never been on a picnic with a girl before.”

Alexander scowls. “You sayin’ I can’t get a date?”

“What I’m saying is that if you were ever actually interested in a girl enough to take her on a proper date you’d be so busy trying to impress her that you’d do something that cost a hell of a lot more.” Assuming he likes girls. I shrug. “And even if you have you can just think of it as you’ve never been on a picnic with me before.”

It’s a long shot. I hope he takes it. I don’t feel like asking some stranger to share my lunch with me just because I got shot down. It could be interesting, but I just don’t want to. I want to share this with Alexander and I want him to actually enjoy himself. I want this to work.

_When did I start getting so invested in this mess?_

“So what this is really all about,” he says, and I don’t like the way Alexander’s face looks when he smirks, “is that you just wanted to go on a date with me.”

“Oh, please. Little Miss Ricarro get to you?” I taunt. If I were Takeshi Jin, I would give Alexander all the shit he’s got coming from the run in and then some. “Besides, if I was gonna trick you into taking me on a date, I’d at least make you spend some serious cash on it. Or make you cook with me or something.”

The smirk is still on Alexander’s face. His eyes are laughing. “Come on, learn to take a joke.”

My breath catches as I realize what’s happened. He joked with me. We’ve been joking more these past weeks, not just taking cheap shots at each other. Maybe everything we’ve been running around doing has been working. Maybe he’s changing a bit, becoming a bit less bored, and I want it to be the truth, because if he can change, then I—

I turn away in a huff, but I can’t stop the smile pulling at my lips. This is silly and stupid and _fun. _I fake a glare at Alexander from the corner of my eye. “Just for that you’re going on this picnic with me even if I have to force you.”

I hoist up the picnic basket and go to leave, but Cunningham steals it from my hands with ease and drops it back on the table. “Easy there,” he says, a chuckle still forming under his words. “We can count the picnic as brunch, but at least sit down long enough for some coffee.” I raise an eyebrow but nod, dropping into my seat. The coffee pot chirps that it’s finished, and Cunningham heads over to fill our cups. “Besides, you and I have never shared a cup of coffee like this yet, have we?”

We haven’t. We’ve snarked at each other over airplane breakfast, we’ve tried all sorts of outlandish restaurants, we’ve stuffed ourselves on street food. But we’ve never just sat down, at the kitchen table, and had a cup of coffee.

It’s the simple and domestic act that gives me a vibrant glimpse of that other world—

The one where everything’s in color.

The one where my expressions aren’t faked.

The one where I don’t have to force myself into the outlandish just to feel like a real person.

I blink and it’s gone. But I saw it, once again, the same flickering sigh ever since that flash of red. It’s real, and if I stick by Alexander’s side, maybe I can stay there a while. That would be good enough, even if it’s not permanent—just a little more time of adventure.

Alexander sets my cup in front of me, and I cradle it in my hands, enjoying the warmth. “Besides, if you’re so worried about it I can pick something extra outlandish and expensive for next time. I’ll even let you cover the whole bill.”

Alexander swallows his sip of coffee with much more grace than I had expected. “Hey, now.”

“Come on,” I parrot back at him, “learn to take a joke.”

There’s a pause before he chuckles, and I let myself snicker, too. Then we’re both laughing, forgetting the coffee we were supposed to be drinking in the first place.

* * *

Once Alexander is all caffeined up and I’ve had my unnecessary second dose of the stuff for the day, he retreats to finish getting dressed and I sort out my outfit in the guest bathroom. It’s funny how much a swap to a blouse and skirt can change my image, though the shaved bit of my hair still throws it off. But that’s what makes me me, and for the first time in a while I’m _proud _of that fact.

“I’ve considered a problem,” I announce when we reconvene in the kitchen. Alexander hefts up the basket with little effort and cocks his head at me. We’re back to the baggy sleeves, but I can’t begrudge what makes him comfortable. “Going out to a public park is just asking for trouble. And as charming as a picnic in your quaint little backyard sounds, I was hoping for somewhere with a bit more place to stretch my legs.” Even if this is a slower day, I’m not a fan of sitting still, and it didn’t take three weeks to figure out the same applies to Alexander.

Alexander stops trying to balance a spare dark blanket from his room on top of the basket. “You’ve got a point. I’d rather not make another mess like before,” he agrees, but doesn’t look deterred. I’m not, either, and we spend a minute in silent contemplation of answers. “Hey, would it be breaking the rules of the deal to let me take the lead on this one?”

I roll my eyes and tug the blanket from Alexander, folding it into a manageable size. “You’re the one who made the rules. Bend them however you like, so long as it doesn’t change the time limit on me.”

“Good, ‘cause I thought of somewhere good, but I want it to be a surprise.” He doesn’t even seem concerned about the results anymore. I’ll prod a bit later, just to be safe. Alexander accepts the folded blanket as I wedge it between the basket handles. “You willing to keep your eyes closed for a while?”

For a moment, I feel dumb in my outfit. Then again, if this does turn into something dumb (and that deep, paranoid part of my brain refuses to consider it’s safe), I know enough to make this uncomfortable for the both of us.

_Don’t start thinking like that. You’re getting somewhere._

“You know I’m up for an adventure,” I say with a grin. “As long as it’s not another lingerie shop, you can take me anywhere.”

“Drama queen.” Alexander steps past me, but not down the hall to the front door. “Taking the car will be easier than walking without carrying this thing around. Walking’s nice, but driving won’t do us any harm, either.” I follow close behind. I may have scoped out the rest of his house, including his garage, but the car wasn’t there the first time around. Parked in the neat garage (neat because it’s pretty much empty) is Cunningham’s shiny vehicle with a name just as pretentious as its price tag. But the engine is whisper quiet as it starts up, and I almost never want to get up from these damn seats.

Alexander glances over to me as I tilt the seat back as far as it can go. “If I ask you not to peak will you actually listen to me?” he asks.

“Dude, I could take a _nap_ in this car,” I respond, remembering to buckle the belt across my waist. I roll on my side, giving myself a view of the backseat view and a noseful of pristine leather. “Drive as long as you like and wake me up when we get there.”


	12. 11 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_11 mph_

* * *

We don’t drive anywhere close to long enough for me to fall asleep, but the smooth ride does lull me into a state of relaxation. I don’t even tease Alexander for asking me to keep my eyes shut after we park. He stopped for a bit to pull down his window, so we’re in a parking garage of some sort. The echo as my feet hit the concrete (with Alexander’s help) confirms it. He takes the basket, I take the blanket, and Alexander leads me with a hand on my arm and occasional words of guidance.

I could be a little shit and peek, but it’s been a while since I’ve felt excited about a surprise, so I go along with it. Our path takes us through the parking garage (empty by the lack of noise), up some stairs, then back out into fresh air with sunlight warming my skin. There’s more stairs, this set heading down, and the creak of a metal gate before we’re walking along a flat surface that sounds like asphalt for longer than we should be able to keep up a straight line.

Alexander stops us, and I take the bait. “Can I look?”

“You don’t wanna guess?” he chuckles.

“I honestly have no fuckin’ idea.” Not getting told otherwise, I open my eyes. “Whoa.”

The IGPX track is an impressive sight, no matter what. Any stretch of pavement that can withstand four-hundred miles per hour giant robots on it has to be. If you fly overhead, you can see the track stretching and looping through and almost out the edges, a massive course they had to build a whole damn city in the middle of the desert to have room for it. From the stands, you can’t see the whole thing, just loops in the distance, and the monitors are critical to enjoying the race at all.

It’s even bigger standing in the middle of it.

The track is wide enough you could put five of Alexander’s car across it bumper to bumper and still have room. Maybe ten. The stands, the hangar building, the IGPX headquarters—they all look so distant.

No one would think to look for Alexander here. No one could get here. It’s the off-season and use of the track for practice runs is regulated—IG teams get simulators to train with, too. It’s an isolated, beautiful place I’ve never been before, and I can’t tell if the track or the sky will swallow me whole first.

I close my eyes again and try to imagine being in a mech. With the memory of Alexander’s cockpit for reference, I try to envision the size, the viewpoint. It still feels too small. A breeze whips up my hair, and I try to imagine the speed, the adrenaline—

“Hey, Kirsten, you comin’?” Alexander calls. I look, and he’s gone farther down the track, though we’re not even close to the next bend. I jog after him, and Alexander sets down the picnic basket when he gets to the finish line. Catching up, I shake the blanket and spread it out. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

He smiles, and all I can do is nod. It’s the same smile he had when talking to Takeshi the other day. I sit down and busy my hands with unpacking the picnic basket, contemplating my own actions over the past weeks. Was I stupid, thinking he needed to be forced into enjoying life? Did I do something as dumb as projecting myself onto him?

_He steps onto the track, and he smiles._

Alexander sits down and helps me unload the dishes. I made too much, but that’s because I wasn’t sure what would work and what wouldn’t. In no time we have an array of sandwiches, pasta salad, watermelon, pudding, breads, snack mix, cookies, and at least three different juice cocktails I pulled together the night before.

“It’s nice to have this place feel like home again,” Alexander mumbles.

“Oh?” I press, not feeling it in me to dive in and go over the top. I felt okay before, when we were in familiar territory, but now I’m scared. I’m scared of asking too many questions and figuring out he’s done with me.

Alexander takes a deep breath and opens up one of the Tupperware with a pop. I smooth out my skirt and start unsticking paper plates from each other, trying to keep my hands busy. “You were right about me,” Alexander admits, and I don’t look up, I don’t want to see this moment drenched in grey again. “Everything you said about me being bored. You were right.”

I glance at him through my bangs, though they don’t cover my vision as much as I like. Alexander’s not quite looking at me, either, still sorting out the picnic in front of us, so I have a moment to fake my smile.

“Of course I was right,” I return, without haughtiness. What if that self-awareness is enough for him to recognize what’s going on with _me_? I dig in the bottom of the basket for silverware. “If I wasn’t right, you’d have called security on me back in the hangar. I would’ve been arrested, but you gave me a chance. If you weren’t looking for something exciting, something _different_, that wouldn’t have happened.”

Just like I wouldn’t have broken into the hangar in the first place, like I wouldn’t have asked Mariya for info, like I wouldn’t have latched onto this stupid bet.

“Well, yeah, but that’s not what I mean.” Alexander’s brow furrows, and it’s not from trying to figure out what to eat first. I shouldn’t have cooked so much; we won’t be able to eat all of this. “Can you… Okay, let me talk and see if I can get this to make sense, alright?”

I don’t object and snatch a sandwich, then start spooning pasta salad onto my plate.

“I’ve been bored for a very long time,” Alexander says, his voice slow, each syllable dipping towards his lower register. I stop loading up my plate and set it aside, not feeling an appetite. Alexander picks up one of the thermoses and rotates it in his hands. “Ever since I was a kid. And when I got into racing…do you know about that?”

“Kinda,” I lie. I know the facts, but I don’t know how he felt about it. Some things even Mariya can’t dig up.

Alexander nods. “Well,” he says, thinking over the word. Has he ever admitted this to himself? To anyone else? Am I the first? “I had a good life set up for me. I don’t know about you, but my parents were the type to make sure I got the best of everything. And when I started showing talent, they made sure none of it went to waste. I didn’t have any trouble living up to expectations, but the act itself…” He shrugs, and even though I didn’t have anything as close to that, I understand. “I got fed up with it and bolted from home the second I could. And luck would have it all that talent ended up with me being a natural at racing.

“I love racing, I really do, but—” He cuts off, as if he shouldn’t be saying this.

So I finish it for him. “But when you’re good at it, when you don’t have to try, it becomes dull,” I say, voice not much louder than his. Out on the track with no one around, it’s nothing but silence. We could whisper from opposite ends and still hear each other. “It’s awful, because you don’t have to fight for it.”

_I might have guessed, but he _was_ just like me. He just wasn’t fighting the same way for the same reasons._

“Yeah, that’s pretty much it.” Alexander glances up to the sky, few clouds scattered across the openness of it all. “But I raced against Takeshi, and it _became_ a challenge. A bunch of rookie brats way better than we could’ve guessed. And racing was fun again.”

That’s why he’s so relaxed around Takeshi; they’re rivals, and they understand each other. They’re both in the game for a challenge. They can bring out something different in each other.

“And the rest of the world?” I ask, trying to ignore the jealousy rushing to my brain. Alexander frowns. “You said _racing_ was fun again. What about everything else?” I lean forward a bit, not wanting to miss the answer.

Alexander smiles a little bit. I’m thrown off by the expression. Even after all this time, I still can’t get a read on him. “I think you know the answer to that.” My breath catches in my throat and I have to fight not to throw myself backwards, not to run away, because what if he can tell, _what if he noticed—_ “Before Takeshi, I would get flickers from racing and I clung onto that, threw myself into practice and nothing else. So I neglected everything else. It was a blank slate. But now…”

I hold my breath. He says the wrong thing and I could be screwed. He won’t get me arrested, not now. But he could decide he doesn’t need me anymore, and, somehow, that seems like it would be much, much worse.

“Well, I don’t know if I’m on the level of other people who just enjoy life with no problem. But I do have fun when you drag me all over the place, so it’s okay.” He smiles a bit more, and his gaze draws mine to it. “A little change of pace isn’t so bad every now and then. Thanks, Kirsten.”

There, I see it. Not just a glimpse, not like before. Alexander smiles at me, not the track, not Takeshi Jin, but me, and everything explodes in _color_.

For the first time, I can see him and I drink it all in: his mess of brown hair, the green of his laughing eyes, the dark blue of that stupid baggy button up. Everything else around him is in color, too, from the beautiful sky to the black pavement to the sheer rainbow of food I brought with me, on top of the dark green blanket from his house. But all that, as amazing as it is, is just a distraction and I latch onto the sight of Alexander, trying to memorize the tone of his skin, the way his colors move with him.

“Kirsten,” Alexander says, and I try not to get mesmerized by the flick of his pink tongue with the words, “you’re spacing out. You can just admit I’m talking too much and tell me to start shoving food in my mouth.”

I shake my head, though I’m smiling again, too. Unlike this morning, the color stays, and I laugh, even if Alexander doesn’t understand why. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say it’s becoming a trend for you to have a hard time eating around me.” The joke feels good, nice. I have to force myself to eat past the fear of looking away and losing what I’m seeing. “We did come here to have a picnic so let’s do it.” I snatch up another thermos—bright orange, didn’t realize when I bought it—and lean forward to tap it against the blue one in Alexander’s hands. “Cheers!” I declare with a giggle, then settle down into my half prepared plate.

_Spoiled? Who cares if I’m spoiled? I’ll hoard every single second of this and never let it go._

We fall into chatter over our meal. I never knew casual conversation could feel so invigorating. But it felt like this over coffee, too, something real and full of life. In all my years of thrill seeking, I’ve never felt as fulfilled as this.

In the end, we stuff ourselves silly, but there’s still a whole half of a picnic basket left. We pack it up, stuff the blanket in the top, and head back the way we came, though this is my first time seeing it. The staff and racer access to the track is made up of whites and beiges and every dull color in the world, but it’s color and it’s right before me.

_I really did forget how beautiful this world can look, didn’t I?_

And I hope that Alexander can see it, too.


	13. 12 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_12 mph_

* * *

The first time the world looked gray to me was around the time I was twelve.

It was after my mom died.

Mom was always this energetic force in our lives. She and Dad both worked, but Mom never gave up a chance for adventure. She would always take me and Nate out to the park, to play a game of street hockey with the neighbors, anything. She had this pleasant aura to her, but she’s where Nate and I get our reckless streaks from. We always joked that it was a miracle she and a straight-laced guy like Dad ended up married.

And then she was in a pedestrian accident, and I mean from the pedestrian side of things, so you can guess how that went.

We were young at that time. Like I said, I was twelve, Nate was seven, had Caleb wasn’t even two yet. I remember the funeral, with everyone dressed in black—me in a blouse and skirt, Nate in his tiny suit, and Caleb too young to tell what the fuck was going on. I didn’t even realize that color had vanished from the world until I looked at Mom in her casket and realized she looked like some old black and white photo, not the vivid red hair I remembered.

Everything wasn’t gray at that point. The world flashed back to vivid color almost too quickly. Dad took several weeks off for mourning, his cop know-how guiding him through the whole sordid experience of filing a lawsuit against the driver that did it. It wasn’t even some mystery to solve: the traffic camera at the intersection showed the driver was at fault, they agreed to payout the court mandated settlement, and that was that. No more Mom for us, just some money.

Once that whole mess settled down, we had to move back to life. Dad went back to work, Nate and I went back to school, and an aunt and uncle who lived nearby but didn’t have kids of their own helped take care of us.

I almost thought I’d been imagining it, that grayscale version of my mom, looking artificially pretty and clean in her coffin. Except every now and then, when I wasn’t distracting myself with life and started thinking about her, the color drained from everything. Just for the moment, flickers here and there.

A couple years passed, and Caleb became a toddler, and Nate hit double digits, and I was in high school, making a total fool of myself. I’d always been reckless, so I won’t say Mom dying caused that, but I started to notice that, no matter how sad I was feeling, so long as I got my blood pumping, everything was okay. The world never turned gray like that. It was just another reason to go hunt down the next thrill on the menu.

My high school days were a mess.

My entrance into young adulthood wasn’t much better.

But I kept on pushing it and got hella lucky. A few fortunate victories while gambling and running around in other nonsense set me up for life. So I had free reign to do whatever the fuck I wanted, without any concern for the cost. More money than any one person has any right to have in their life.

I wasn’t exactly tracking it or anything, but the gray got worse.

Until it clouded my whole vision.

The entire damn world some ancient strip of film, without a single speck of color in it.

But when I listened to Alexander—

* * *

Once we finish up our picnic, we loaded everything back in the car and set off for Alexander’s place. We didn’t even come close to finishing up my overwhelming feast of a brunch, but I have no qualms about gorging myself on leftovers for the next week or so. Unlike the ride to the track, I now sit up in my seat, torn over what to look at first.

The world is such a lush spread of color I don’t know what to do with myself. It’s not like I totally forgot what it looked like, but my memory is never as vivid as reality spreading out around me. The sky is blue, what little plant life there is in IGPX City is green, and cars and pedestrians are from all ends of the color wheel and beyond. I don’t even stop myself from grinning like a fucking moron.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drop you off at home?” Alexander asks for what’s gotta be the twentieth time. I do my best to look at him and not the colored lights on his dashboard. The car adds just the slightest tint of shade over him, dropping his colors a few gradients darker. “It’s startin’ to warm up out there. Toting that thing back’s gonna be a pain in the ass.”

I shrug him off, brushing my fingers over the shaved side of my head. “I walked to your place carrying that picnic basket when it was full. Heading back after we’ve already eaten out of it will be easy.” The stitching on the car seat catches my attention, the black looking darker with the almost shiny leather next to it. “Besides, you can load up some of the extra at your place. I swear you hardly ever cook.”

“Racing practice kind of takes it out of me.” Pulling to a stop at a red light (which I can _see_, not just guess because of the position), Alexander flicks on his turn signal and waits for traffic to pass. “Besides, don’t you think it’s a little unfair that we always use my place for home base?”

“Don’t you think it’s a little unfair that you’re never awake when I stop by?” I ask, without a doubt trying to distract him. Alexander scowls, but the furrow eases out of his brow in short order. I’m tempted to toss in something like, _Besides, I put in the effort to find your place, so you can do the same, _but that might end in him asking probing questions about Mariya that I’m not allowed to answer. Sucks to be him.

Or, y’know, it _would_ if he wasn’t Cunningham freakin’ Hume.

Alexander sighs as I recognize the buildings rolling past me in the windows. The old brick café on the corner (which is an awesome shade of russet red) is near his place. Considering his competitive streak, it’s surprising he’s given in so easy. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Hey, it’s _because_ I’m impossible that you’ve started to feel better, right? I’ll take it.” Especially because it’s helped me a feel a lot better, too. The world has never looked so amazing to me. I lean back in the comfiest seat in the damn world and grin. I never thought I’d say I’m glad I got caught during a stunt, but this is worth it. “Have you considered sky diving next? That’s an adventure.”

“Oh?” Alexander raises an eyebrow, not once taking his eyes off the road. What a goody two shoes. Then again, considering he’s usually piloting a mech, maybe that vigilance is habit by now. “You weren’t planning on just feeding me for the rest of the off season?”

I snort and whack his arm. “We’d run out of interesting places to eat without getting mobbed in no time. Besides, I wouldn’t be able to make you any spider dishes. What fun is that?” Alexander shudders, and I switch gears to patting his shoulder. “There, there. If you ever get a damn week off in your life, we can go straight to Cambodia. Get it from the source.”

“I don’t think you’d be very happy if the person driving you around vomited in the process.”

“I think you’d be less happy about it, considering that this is your car.” We turn another corner onto Alexander’s street, the neat rows of houses looking less identical now that I can distinguish them by their paint colors, all blue and brown and white. “Though I guess it would be kinda shitty if I had to endure the smell of your puke. Glad we’re almost done here.”

Alexander shakes his head, hair waving in the process. “Charming as always.” It’s unfair what a nice shade of brown his hair is. Much more appealing that the near-black color I’d seen before. The car slows as we pull into the drive and wait for the garage door to finish opening. Alexander parks with a precision I don’t think I could manage. “Well, thanks again for the food. It was nice.”

“You mean enjoying the track again was nice.” I mean it as a snark, but Alexander’s expression softens, melting back to that smile.

“Yeah, that was part of it.”

Before he can get all mushy on me, I unbuckle my seatbelt and hop out of the car, ready to retrieve my picnic basket from the backseat. Before Alexander can even think to do the same, I toss the blanket at his head, submerging him in the darkest of greens. “You’re not done with me yet, Alexander. I still gotta load off some of this food on you.”

Alexander splutters until a warm laugh spills out of his mouth. I’m already halfway back into his house by the time the driver’s side door opens. “If you leave it here do I have to pay the bill?” he asks as the garage rattles shut.

“Hm?” In color, Alexander’s kitchen is rather plain, the dark blue walls accented with white cabinets. I put the basket on the table and snoop around, trying to uncover some Tupperware so I can split up the food without having to give up anything for my place.

“You know, you’ve been making me pay for everything else so far.” Alexander opens a cabinet and reveals a line of plastic containers —on the opposite end of the room from where I was looking. I let the door in my hand bang shut and accept the Tupperware as he starts to unload it. “I figured that this wouldn’t be much different.”

A heaping pile of containers with their red and blue lids in my arms, I totter over to the table. “Well, yeah, but all those things were expensive. Like, a decent chunk of cash.” Without any better method, I dump my whole load, listening to the sound of plastic knocking against plastic. “I threw this together for under forty bucks. That’s pretty much chump change.” Or at least it is at our financial status. I make a mental note to send some more money back to my family.

Looking over the mess I’ve made of his table with an amused smile, Alexander comes over with several spoons suited to scraping food between bowls. “Fair enough,” he says and gets to helping me with the transfers. We’ll have this taken care of in no time. “Any chance I can expect a similar discount in the future?”

“Not a chance.” I grin, pointing my spoon at him so fast that I almost flick potato salad in his face. I’m almost sad that I didn’t. “You’re a big boy, Alexander. You can afford it.”

He clicks his fingers in mock disappointment. “Worth a shot.” I roll my eyes and pop the lid onto my chosen container and move onto the next. “Well, I’d guess I’d feel bad if I didn’t chip in by this point since you’re doing all this to help me. And you’re right, I can afford it.”

“See? So stop fussing.” Sorting out the rest of the food, I pick up the container of watermelon and try to split it without spilling the juice all over the table. “For someone that was trying to get me arrested a month ago, you sure are acting considerate.”

“Well, like I said, you helped me out a lot.” The words make me smile. Even if Alexander doesn’t know it, he’s helped me out a lot, too. I’d almost forgotten what real watermelon looks like—vibrant pink, not just my cookie cutter imagination of red. “Then again, since you provided the food today, maybe I should repay the favor next time.”

I let my smile widen into a grin. “What, you’re gonna cook for me?”

Alexander passes me the half-empty sandwich container, the corners of his lips quirked up. “I don’t think you’d like that very much.”

“What, no Cunningham cuisine?” With the rest all the food divvied up, I doublecheck the basket one more time before flipping the lid shut and hopping up to sit next to it on the table. “What’s this payback gonna be, then?”

“Let me take you out to dinner, Kirsten.”


	14. 13 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_13 mph_

* * *

I’ve been home for three damn hours and I still haven’t been able to figure out what the hell Alexander was thinking when he offered me that.

Sure, he clarified that it was going out to eat and drink with his teammates, but that just raises even more questions. Is he trying to set me up or something? Thanks to Mariya’s handywork, the only people who know I was even in Team Velshtein’s hangar are me and Alexander. But if he introduces me to his teammates, that means that other people will know I exist. Which isn’t the end of the world, but what if I accidentally say something?

_What if Alexander’s already told them?_

I kick at my living room carpet and just scream. There’s enough space between my condo and the neighbors downstairs that I don’t have to worry about anyone hearing me. “What the hell is his problem?!” If I stop overthinking the whole mess, Alexander is just trying to pay me back for making brunch. Bringing his teammates into it is most likely because he hardly gets the chance to go out otherwise, plus I’ve been taking up all his free time. There’s no harm in hanging out with both his friends and me at once.

_For him at least!_

I storm across the room and throw open the door to the balcony. Wind whips by, bringing the scent of sand all the way into the city. It’s late afternoon and the sun has started to creep its way towards the horizon, though not enough to start out sunset. Even so, it’s hot as hell, but I don’t care, wrenching open my balcony storage. It’s a clustered mess of different sets of gear from my miscellaneous escapades over the years: skis and a dark jumpsuit and a rollerblade that’s missing its pair. I unearth a basketball from the mess and force everything else back inside.

Playing sports was one of my favorite childhood past times, though I never played on any official teams or anything. Nate and I used to play all the time together, and we taught Caleb all the rules when he was older. I’m not super skilled or anything because I was never satisfied doing the same thing for a long time, even as a brat. But I can do enough to burn off my energy.

I toss the ball between my hands a few times, enjoying the texture. The faded orange color makes the damn thing look almost brown, but it still has enough bounce in it. I do my best to dribble, putting more force into the motion with each rebound against the ground. The concrete patio echoes in a series of satisfying smacks—until the ball slips from my hands and crashes into one of my deck chairs.

“Fuck—”

I reclaim the ball and get back to dribbling, the repetitive motions making it easier to think straight. Alexander and I have been hanging out for several weeks by now. Just because _I_ don’t have any regular social interaction doesn’t mean that he doesn’t. And when you get along with someone, it’s normal to invite them to hang out with your other friends. This is _normal._

I dribble as I pace, starting to build up speed. Once I remember that I’m on my balcony and not an actual basketball court, I stop. Last thing I need is to drop the damn ball off the side of the building and bean someone in the head. Could I afford it? Sure, but that doesn’t mean I want to put up with that sort of nonsense.

Frustrated with myself, I stomp back inside, aiming for some clothes more appropriate to doing sports.

_This is stupid._

What’s even more stupid is that I want to go.

* * *

On a Thursday afternoon I get to have the fantastic experience of shoving Cunningham Hume off the edge of a cliff and into a lake. He resurfaces a few moments later. Satisfied that I didn’t kill him, I dive into the water before he can even start to shout at me. For a few seconds, there’s nothing to support me at all, just that tumbling freefalling sensation of _air_—and then I smack into the water. My skin stings from the impact, and cold water overtakes every inch of my body.

As much as I’d like to open my eyes and enjoy the view, I don’t quite trust this lake water enough without goggles. So I indulge in the sensation of floating in the water instead of the air before I kick my legs and break through the surface of the lake. Alexander’s green eyes are narrow slits, and his stupid hairstyle is almost weighed down by the water. I grin back at him. “You’re not going to make me push you out of the plane when we go skydiving, are you? ‘Cause, I mean, I’ll do it, but I didn’t think you were such a pussy.”

“Bite me,” Alexander says, without any venom. I splash some water towards him, but he maneuvers out of the way with ease. “What is it with you and the water? First the ocean, now this inland beach…” He gestures to land, where a tiny stretch of sand houses our lunch cooler and a few other people. “I’m sensing a pattern.”

“Yeah, and it’s called we live in the middle of the fucking desert, so swimming is a great way to not die.” I kick myself even with the surface and let myself float on my back, enjoying the faint trails of white swirling through the azure sky. That cliff and I are gonna have another meetup, but I’m content to let the heat of the day slip away into the lake. “Besides I had to test your jumping prowess.”

“Right. Or you just like the water.” I shrug as best I can. This is just what happened to come mind for the day, so I went for it. “You even packed lunch again. Are you coming out to eat one of these days?”

I hum, the water lapping against my sides. Despite bringing it up almost a week ago, Alexander hasn’t pestered me about dinner since. The way he says it doesn’t make it feel like an obligation. Just an invitation. “Are you sure you want me to meet the boys? What if you change your mind and decide I’m better off in police custody? Talk about awkward.”

“That won’t happen.” For a second, the colors of the world seem more saturated than usual. I almost capsize myself but turn it into an underwater front flip, my hair slicking back behind me. When I resurface, Alexander’s the one that’s grinning. “Don’t look so surprised. I decided that since you made good on your end of the deal to make me enjoy myself, it’s only fair I do the same. No police for you.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

Alexander rolls his eyes. “And you act like _I’m_ the uptight one.”

“Hey, this isn’t uptight; it’s good business sense!” I’ve screwed the pooch one too many times, plus Mariya makes me extra paranoid, and she’s supposed to be on _my_ side. When I see Alexander’s half-disappointed look, I push my bangs out of my face. The group of college kids on the beach bursts out laughing loud enough to reach us in the middle of the lake. “I’m not a fan of going to jail, Alexander.”

“And I’m not a fan of feeling like nothing’s worth it anymore.” We have that in common. Alexander raises a hand out of the water and offers it to me. “We don’t have anything suited to a contract in the water, but I can at least give you my word for now. That work?”

I scrutinize him. After all this time, I have a good idea of when he’s saying what he really thinks. As far as I can tell, this is one of those moments. I guess I’m just surprised he still wants to be friends—and he’s not even pressuring me into anything else. I don’t know whether to feel impressed or offended.

But that’s not important right now.

_He trusts me. Do I trust him?_

Before, I would’ve said no way in hell. The whole way he lived his life up until now just rubbed me the wrong way. But now, after talking with him and going on these adventures together, I can see what he’s looking for, and it’s the same damn thing I am.

_When I’m with Alexander, the whole world turns to color._

I’d be stupid to give that up.

“Alright,” I say. Before Alexander can even register my words, I slap my palm into his in a firm but wet handshake. “I’ve decided not to ruin the moment by letting you know if you’re lying to me, you’ll regret it.”

Alexander chuckles. “That’s the same as warning me, you know…”

But before he can form any other argument, I’ve already shifted my weight, and I drag Alexander under the water with me.

* * *

“Kiiiiirsten! I’ve missed you! You haven’t called me at all. If I didn’t see your flight schedule from yesterday, I would’ve thought you died.”

I grimace and pull my phone away from my ear, putting the thing on speakerphone and letting Mariya’s wailing echo around my room. I’d just finished up my shower when my phone went off, signaling a call from her. Considering I hadn’t asked her to do a job for me, I had thought it was an emergency.

I was wrong.

I finish toweling off my hair and make a beeline for the closet, leaving my phone atop my dresser. “Are you ever going to stop stalking me? I’d much appreciate it.”

Mariya makes another audible whining noise through the speaker. I don’t retort, digging up a pair of skinny jeans I’m fond of and slipping them on. “But it’s been ages since we’ve talked, darling. And I get so bored when it’s just work, work, work all the time. Your job requests are much more fun.”

I sigh, even if she can’t hear it from this distance. “If you bothered to leave your house every now and then, you might just make some friends.”

“Why ever would I want to make friends with a bunch of normies?” Goodness, being smart sure has created a barrier between her and the rest of the world. Despite knowing this for years, I’m surprised every time she opens her mouth. “It’s not like you hang out with anyone, either! Well, besides Cunningham.”

I hate that tone in her voice. She thinks she’s being subtle, but she’s anything but. “What all do you know?” I ask, pulling out a couple of tops and comparing them. It’s just dinner with his teammates, but he didn’t say where we’re going. They’re all loaded as IGPX pilots, so it might be somewhere expensive. I make a note to put as much on Alexander’s bill as I can.

“Well…” Mariya snickers, and I shove the blouse back in the closet. Too fancy. T-shirt will have to do, plus I look damn good in it. “I know you guys went to that lake, then you went skiing out of the country, then—” She rattles off every single trip we’ve taken since Mariya and I last talked. I hate her memory. “Oh! And I know you guys went to the IGPX track and had something that was suspiciously close to a date. I dunno. There isn’t audio on the track cams.”

I march back over to my dresser and snatch up my phone. “Why are you always like this, Mariya? Can’t you have normal hobbies?”

“That’s lame. Also, you have no room to talk.” I click my tongue and go to retrieve a hairbrush from the bathroom. I almost rip the damn tangles right out with how much force I’m putting into it. “I just want what’s best for you, dear, that’s all. If you’re happy, I’m happy, but I just wanna keep what happened last time—”

“Yeah, yeah.” I don’t want to talk about it. Mariya means well. Even if her way of showing it is skewed, I should calm the hell down. “Look, I appreciate it. But you don’t have to worry. Things are going fine.” I’m not going to get a visit from the police any time soon, and hanging out with Alexander is fun. Considering where I was at the start of this mess, I couldn’t ask for anything more. Satisfied, I pull my hair back into its usual ponytail and give myself one last once over in the mirror. “If you don’t mind, I do have plans tonight, so I’ll get going.”

“Right! Good luck on your second not-date with Cunningham!”

And the little brat hangs up before I even get the chance to retort.


	15. 14 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_14 mph_

* * *

Whenever most people meet celebrities, I’m sure they get distracted by what it’s like to see them in person, not as an image on the screen. I, on the other hand, am too busy getting distracted by seeing Jan Michel and Dew Urbina in full color. Jan’s hair is this dirty blonde that’s even darker than my own, and his dark eyes seem like they’re hiding some sort of joke. Dew has this youthful air to him that stretches out his tanned skin into a grin. His hair is a bit lighter blonde, bordering right on the edge of being brown. Like Cunningham, they both seem to have a penchant for baggy clothes. If you saw them standing in a line, you wouldn’t guess they were three of the most famous men in the whole sport.

Except that everyone knows who Team Velshtein is, so maybe that’s a bad comparison.

“Kirsten, you made it,” Alexander says and waves a hand at me. His teammates perk up as I cross over to them in the bar lobby, both trying to figure out just what I look like as I size them up myself. Alexander just smiles and gestures to them. “I’m sure you know, but this is Jan and Dew, my teammates.” They both seem to read some sort of unspoken signal, because they wave at the same time. “Guys, this is Kirsten.”

“Sup?” Jan says, and offers me a hand to shake. Part of me worries that this is still some sort of dumb trap, but I shrug the thought off. Mariya may be worried about me hanging out with Alexander, but it’s not for anything like that.

Dew steps up next, and I clasp his hand in mine. “It’s nice to actually put a face to the name,” he says, voice filled with an almost soothing quality. “Cunningham talks about you a lot.”

“Oh, he does, does he?” I smirk in his direction, and Alexander looks sheepish for a second. “I didn’t know I was so popular. Now I feel bad for not bragging about you to my brother more.” I haven’t had the time to call Nate in a while. I’m sure he’ll be fuming if I hold out on him much longer. At the trio of confused looks aimed in my direction, I put on a smile. “He’s studying to become a mechanic for mechs. He’s liked IGPX since he was, like, this tall.” I put a hand up to about my hip. Damn, kids grow up too fast.

“Well, whoever’s bragging to who, I’m sure it’ll be better done inside,” Alexander says. I can see his mind running at over two-hundred miles per hour, but he turns around before I can figure out what it is. “I take it you’ve had enough of watching crowds clamor over my attention, right?”

Jan makes a half-assed whack at Alexander’s arm. “You’re not the only one who’s gonna attract attention, you know?”

“Yeah, but Kirsten hasn’t seen you guys flounder around yet.”

“You’re an ass.”

Without waiting for any more prompting, we make our way into a private booth on the second floor of the bar. A large brown table takes up most of the space, with comfortable looking velvet red seats all around. I sink into the cushions. It’s about the level of Alexander’s couch, but not quite the rank of his car. Still, it won’t be a bad place to drink my ass off for the evening.

Once we’ve ordered our first round of beer and some appetizers, there’s a moment where I debate starting the conversation before the awkward silence sinks in. Dew beats me to it. “So,” he says from across the table, “can we get the story of how you two met from you? Because this guy—” He jams a thumb in Alexander’s direction “—hasn’t told us a damn thing.”

Jan’s face lights up in a troublemaking smile. “An excellent point, Dew,” he says. If we can all bond over giving Alexander shit, then I think we can get along just fine. “Just one day we were like ‘What’d you do over the weekend, bro?’ and he was like ‘Oh, I went mountain climbing.’ Then we had to pester them to find out who the hell he went with.”

Considering we met when I broke into their team’s hangar, that was probably a smart move. I flick my eyes to Alexander and put on an innocent-looking smile. “You didn’t tell them?” I ask, sounding way more cheerful than I feel. My insides are too busy twisting up in a mix of relief and suspicion. I’d rather be walking on a tightrope set over a pit of snakes.

Alexander scratches the back of his head. “Well, I figured you wouldn’t appreciate coming off like such a fangirl. I mean—” he smirks, and I hate him “—you put in a lot of effort just to meet me, right?”

I clench my fists under the table. _That’s how you wanna play it, huh?_ “Well, it was really just a coincidence. I consider myself lucky.” Lucky that I’m sitting here waiting for some beer instead of in a jail cell. “I mean, you almost didn’t recognize me the second time I talked to you. I was worried.” Alexander almost pouts at the accusation. I smile more, turning back to his teammates. “We pretty much happened to cross paths a couple of times. I told him he looked bored, so he should do something fun with himself. That’s the gist of it.”

“That’s boring, but fine,” Jan says, and it seems our bullshit explanation has worked. It’s not as if the actual story sounds any more likely. Maybe some day Alexander will tell them the truth. Our server finally comes back with our drinks, and I start right away on downing my beer. It’s not my tab. “I guess we should just be glad he’s actually going out and doing something.”

“Hey,” Alexander says. “I do things.”

Dew rolls his eyes. “Yeah, like come to practice and fence and watch the same gladiator movies over and over again,” he says, and Alexander conceals his grimace behind his beer. I don’t bother to hide my snicker. This was a good idea, after all. Dew flashes me a thumbs up. “So, even if he hasn’t said it, thanks for making Cunningham have a little fun for once.”

He has said it, but I don’t feel like discussing the circumstances of that conversation just yet. “Oh, no, the pleasure’s all mine,” I say. “I’m sure you guys try your best, too, as his teammates. Hopefully I haven’t stolen him away from you or anything.” Because if our relationship is starting to look too cozy to anyone besides Mariya, I’ll have to back off a bit.

“Nah, it’s all good. We usually hang out with him like this.”

Jan nods, clearing out space on the table as our first round of overabundant appetizers starts to hit the table. I snatch up a stuffed mushroom, almost burning my tongue in the process. I think it enhances the flavor. “Besides, we get enough of this guy during practice,” Jan says with a laugh.

“I am right here, you know,” Alexander says.

I elbow him in the side. “Yes, you are,” I say, “but I talk to you all the time. I thought the whole point of this was that you wanted me to get to know your teammates.” Or at least that’s what I guessed. Alexander didn’t really elaborate.

“I didn’t anticipate that getting to know my teammates would involve taking constant shots at my lifestyle.” He eases back into his seat, a chicken wing between his fingers. “Besides, you all know about me. I think we should have a nice conversation that I can participate in.”

“Sore loser,” Dew says at the same time I do. Jan almost snorts beer out his nose, and no one’s even drunk yet. I trade off a high five with Dew as Alexander heaves another dramatic sigh. “But fair enough,” Dew continues. “Cunningham’s only told us a bit about you. We were convinced he was trying to keep you a secret or something.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t want to admit I beat him in that mountain bike race,” I say, and then, before Alexander can protest, “It _counts_.”

“You’re impossible,” he says.

“And yet you hang out with me anyway.” I snatch up my second stuffed mushroom and let Alexander sulk a little. “But, yeah, I mean, there’s not too much to know about me. I got way too lucky when I was younger, so I was able to retire early.” Hell, I could’ve let _Dad_ retire, too, but he was too stubborn to take the offer. “I’m mostly a thrill seeker. If there’s something wild and adrenaline inducing, that’s probably where you’ll find me.”

“Sounds like a good time,” Jan says around a mouthful of chicken wing. “At least Cunningham sounds like he enjoys it.”

I flash Alexander a smile. “You brag to your friends about me, I see.”

Alexander puts down his beer and shrugs. “To be fair, hanging out with you is what I’ve been doing these past weeks. I don’t have much else to talk about, and you’re easily the most entertaining part of my free time.” Jan exchanges a glance with Dew, but I don’t care. They can think whatever they want, especially once I’m drunk off my ass. “But you said you had a brother? Younger? Older?”

“Oh, yeah, I was gonna ask about that.” Dew leans over the table, a brilliant grin stretched across his face. With their combined looks, it’s no wonder Velshtein’s popular, even though they’ve dropped their five-year run as IG-1 champions. “I’ve got a couple of siblings myself. I’m the middle child.”

I nod. “I’m the oldest,” I say, holding up a peace sign. “I’ve got two baby brothers. Though at this point, I guess they’re not really babies anymore…” Sheesh, when the hell did those kids grow up? If I wasn’t such an adrenaline junkie, I’d feel old.

Jan brushes some hair out of his eyes, accidentally flecking a bit of wing sauce on his forehead. “Well, if I guess we’re sharing, I’ve got a sibling myself, though I’m younger. Only by a year, though.”

I flick my eyes over to the seat beside me. “And you, Alexander? Might as well finish the sharing circle.”

“I was raised an only child,” Alexander says, and I down the last of my beer like I don’t already know that his parents decided to have another child after wonder boy over here decided to run off and become an IGPX pilot. What’s it like for him, having a little sister he’s never met? Sheesh, Mariya needs to learn when someone asks for intel, there’s honestly a limit. Alexander builds himself a lettuce wrap like it doesn’t bother him at all. “I’m sure you guys have a lot more exciting stories to tell than I do about growing up.”

I snort just as Jan decides that there’s nothing better to do than stare down the table’s worth of food. I wonder how many drinks it’ll take him to crack. “Ha,” Dew says, digging in his pocket. “I’ve got a good one for ya. But before that…” He pulls out a compact digital camera, nice and shiny. “Kirsten, you said your bro is a fan, right? Why don’t you take a picture as a souvenir? While we’re still sober, preferably.”

“Oh, that sounds great! Nate will love it!” He’ll also hate me at the same time, but that’s what siblings do. Without any instruction, we’re all bunching closer on the booth as Dew maneuvers his camera for a group selfie. “If you print a copy, it’d be even better if you’d signed it.”

Since I’m pretty much smooshed into Alexander’s side, I feel his chuckle almost more than I hear it. “Weren’t you saying all this celebrity stuff was stupid?” he asks.

I hold my grin for the picture (it’s easy since Jan has thrown up bunny ears behind Alexander’s head) and wait until Dew gives us the go to separate. “It is stupid,” I say. “But it’ll make Nate happy, so who cares?” I brush my hand over the shaved part of my head as our server opens the door to our private room. “Oh, perfect timing! Can I get a refill, please?”


	16. 15 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_15 mph_

* * *

“Aw, man, look at him,” Jan says, poking at Dew’s side. He’s completely slumped back in the booth, his head leaning backwards and mouth hanging wide open. He doesn’t snore, but the sounds of his breathing are just loud enough that I can hear them from the other side of the table. Jan looks back to me and Alexander, all the alcohol flushing his cheeks red. “Should I wake him up?”

“Let the kiddo be,” I say, trying to wave my hand through the air. I can’t quite get the right level of coordination down, so it just kind of flops. I have no idea what time it is, but I doubt I’d be able to read a clock with how much beer I’ve gone through anyway. “If he’s asleep, that just means he’s a lightweight.”

Alexander chuckles. I’d wondered if he’d be a bit more unrestrained with some beer in him, but he’s just a mellow drunk. “You hold your beer better than I thought, though, Kirsten,” he says, scanning over the bits of food still left on the table. Our server has been an absolute gem at helping us avoid alcohol poisoning. “I bet you had your fair share of wild adventures in you, huh?”

“Leave the past in the past, Alexander.” Somehow, I manage to get the words out without slurring, which is impressive since I lost count of my number of drinks a long time ago. I tap my fingers along the edge of the table. “I grew out of that phase of my life a long time ago.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“That’s just ‘cause you’re so boring, man,” Jan says. He hasn’t woken Dew up, but that hasn’t stopped Jan from snapping a picture of his snoozing teammate. “Never did any parties or anything. It’s unfair how much you can drink in one go. Frickin’ Germans, it’s in their blood or something.”

“Isn’t the drinking age, like, super low where you grew up, though?” I ask. I didn’t start my world travels until I was done with high school, but I sorta kinda remember sneaking in some “underage” drinks while I was in Europe. Jan just brushes his hair out of his face, muttering something I can’t quite hear. “Oh, I recognize that ‘I’ve done shit that I regret’ face. Spill. I won’t tell.”

Alexander sips from the glass of water out server so graciously provided and shakes his head. “Good luck getting that out of him,” he says. “Jan will take his secrets to the grave.” I smirk. Sounds like a challenge I’m willing take on. Alexander taps my shoulder. “Hey, will you lemme out? Restroom.”

“Abandoning me when I could use some backup. So cruel!” I grasp my chest in mock hurt but stand up anyway. Alexander shuffles out of the seat and heads to the exit. For a moment, the chatter and louder music of the rest of the bar drift in, then fade out as Alex shuts the door behind him. I slump back into my seat. “Sheesh, that Alexander still doesn’t know how to have fun.”

“Is that it, then?” Jan asks. I glance over at him. His gaze is unfocused as he looks at me, but I have enough common sense left to recognize that he’s trying to be serious. The beer isn’t helping. “You’re hanging out with him because you think he needs help with that? Nothin’ else?”

For some reason, his words make me bristle. I narrow my eyes at Jan. Dew doesn’t so much as stir at the change in atmosphere. “What, are you worried? Think I’m up to something?” I flick my ponytail over my shoulder, almost smacking myself in the face with it. “I’m not. But even if I was, it wouldn’t be any of your business, would it? Alexander’s an adult. He can make his own decisions about whether or not to trust me.” He was stupid enough to agree to my dumb deal, after all.

Jan’s brows furrow, and I lean back in my seat. “It’s our business because we’re his teammates. His _friends_.” He puts so much emphasis on the word that my chest almost aches. After everything, Mariya’s the only friend I have outside of my family, and it’s damn pathetic. “You’re not the first person that’s tried to worm their way into his life. And just because you’re taking him out to do things and not trying to be his girlfriend honestly doesn’t mean shit to me.” Ah, so that’s it, then. Jan jabs a finger at me, though he ends up pointing at Alexander’s empty spot beside me. “So you better have a good reason for this before I figure out how to make sure you never see him again.”

The agitation and sadness inside me break as I laugh.

Jan isn’t impressed. “What the hell’s so funny?”

“Nothing. It’s just kinda cute how you guys convinced Alexander to invite me to dinner just so you could try to protect him.” Jan gives me a petulant look as I take a drink from my half full beer, trying to ignore how the lukewarm temperature twists its taste. “I know you don’t have anything to take but my word for it, but you don’t need to worry about me. Like I said, Alexander needed some fun in his life, so I figured I’d provide. And, well…”

I suck in a breath, watching the condensation along the side of my mug as I continue, “I was kind of worried about him, when it came to that stuff. But I haven’t tried any of that shit. He hasn’t, either. It’s…nice. Having someone to just spend time with, no extra expectations or anything.” Considering that Jan’s acting like this, maybe I was stupid for doubting Alexander in the first place. “It’s really nice. Seeing in color. I don’t want to ruin that.”

I didn’t mean for some of that to come out, but Jan looks too confused to even catch it. Which is great, because I wouldn’t even know where to start explaining it. Dew twitches a bit in his seat but doesn’t awake. After Jan and I stare each other down for what seems like an eternity, he sighs and looks away.

“Alright,” he says, seeming satisfied. “I don’t know what you want, but I can tell it’s at least nothing bad. So just keep doing what you’re doing, Kirsten. It’s…” He mulls over his words, casting his eyes at the door. “Cunningham sounds like he enjoys hanging out with you. So take care of that, dammit. That’s all. Sorry for being an ass.”

I don’t realize I’m smiling for a moment. “No worries. Sorry for being some weirdo who just jumped into your friend’s life.” And his mech. I down the rest of my beer to keep that from spilling out, though it just seems counterproductive. With that done, I offer Jan my hand. “Truce?”

Jan misses my hand at first, but we manage to complete a clumsy handshake that tips over a glass of water. “Ah, damn,” Jan says as Alexander opens the door, the pounding music following him.

Alexander raises an eyebrow as I attempt to salvage the remains of our potato skins with far too many napkins. “Do we need to wrap things up here?” he asks, sounding way too sober for my liking. Next time, I’ll drink him under the damn table. “I know we don’t have practice tomorrow, but…”

“Yeah, let’s call it a night.” Jan gives up on the food and shakes Dew’s shoulder. “I’ll take Dew home since we live the same way. You guys gonna be alright getting out of here safe?”

“We’ll be fine,” I say, standing up. I need the support of the table for a bit, but I should be able to walk just fine. This isn’t close to being the worst bender I’ve ever gone on. I half-stumble over to Alexander’s side. “You’re paying for the cab, right? You said you’d cover everything.”

Alexander rolls his eyes, but there’s still a smile stretching over his lips. “Wait here. I’ll go pay the tab.”

* * *

Outside, the night air has just enough chill to it to make up for the obnoxious heat during the day. Despite it being late, cars still shine their headlights on the roads and the other bars on the strip all flash their neon signs. With my newly restored color vision, it’s a damn mess, and I support myself on Alexander’s arm as he hails a ride. Since anyone still awake at this hour is most likely plastered, no one makes a big deal out of him standing in the middle of the street.

“You doin’ okay there?” Alexander asks as a cab pulls up for us. I force myself to stand up and crawl into the back seat without his help. It’s almost a shame that he couldn’t drive, because falling asleep in his car seat sounds fantastic. The cab feels like torture in comparison. Alexander piles in after me. “Here, let’s stop by your place first so I can help you inside.”

“Joke’s on you, but your place is closer,” I say. With the passenger door shut, it’s hard to make out Alexander’s expression in the dark. I think about telling the driver Alexander’s address, but my memory is drawing a blank. Instead, I draw myself up to my full height, though it doesn’t do much good when we’re still sitting down. “I’ll pay this taxi driver to go around in circles, and none of us would like that. So just go to your place first, kay?”

Alexander’s sigh slips out in the dark, but he tells the driver his address, and off we go. With that done, he closes the partition between the front and back seats. “Is there a reason you’re so against me knowing where you live? I already told you that I don’t plan on getting you arrested.”

I prop my legs against the seat in front of me and lean back, enjoying the way the lights of the city seem to roll past like stars. “Well, mostly ‘cause it annoys you.” At least, at this point. I leave out the part where some miniscule part of me doesn’t trust what he’d do if he knew. _And I had the gall to tell Mariya she was being silly._ “Also because I don’t see how it’s relevant. You’re friends with Takeshi Jin, but do you know where he lives?”

“No, but _he_ doesn’t come break into my house on a regular basis.” Underneath his calm tone, I think I hear something else. Is he pouting? “I’m just saying, it just seems unfair, that’s all. But if you’re not gonna tell me, there’s no sense in forcing the issue.”

The faint unease that’s made it through to my drunken mind disappears back into the haze of blocked neurotransmitters. I go to lean closer to him but overestimate my balance and end up almost jabbing my chin into his arm. “Such a gentleman. Maybe that’s why you’re bored all the time.”

A square of orange light manages to make it through the window, illuminating Alexander’s amused expression for an instant. “Are you telling me you’d rather I wasn’t a gentleman, Kirsten?” I can feel the warmth of his breath, the smell of alcohol clinging to it. It reminds me far too much of all the dumb decisions I’ve made before in my life, but it’s not the same. Alexander feels different, feels safe.

But for once in my life I’m not ready to take a chance. Not _that_ chance.

The car slows to a stop, and I don’t have to make that decision. Alexander’s sleepy neighborhood waits outside, everyone in their neat rows of homes fast asleep already. Our driver knocks on the window, and Alexander opens it, handing over his card and explaining to charge my ride home on it, too. With that settled, he climbs out of the car and turns back to me. “See you soon?” he asks, as if we haven’t been meeting like clockwork.

“See you soon,” I say, then watch until he makes it inside the house before I tell the driver my address. It’s not too long of a drive, and soon I’m back home, half remembering to change into my pajamas before I collapse on the bed. I’m so tired that it doesn’t take long for me to fall asleep feeling absolutely fulfilled—

Until I wake up the next morning and the copies of the pictures that Dew has sent me are gray.


	17. 16 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_16 mph_

* * *

It takes me several moments to recognize what’s happening before my eyes—except that’s a lie, and I notice right away. I lived in that sea of gray for _years_, so of course I recognize it. The several moments are instead spent on a fierce denial that this could possibly be happening, that the color could just vanish just like that.

I blink several times, as if I can reverse what’s happening, cast it off as the sleep in my eyes not letting me focus. But no matter how I look, how I stare, the reality is still right before me: Alexander, Jan, Dew, and I are all crammed together in a ridiculous group selfie, looking faintly buzzed by the unrestrained smiles on our face, Dew’s peace sign blurred because he hadn’t put up his hand long enough. It would be great, if it weren’t essentially a black and white photo, my skin an almost sickly off-white, Alexander’s hair and eyes that I _know_ are beautiful shades of brown and green lost in the shades of gray that I can’t deny.

It makes me feel sick enough that I toss my phone to the floor, dissatisfied with the flimsy sound that happens when it smacks into the carpet.

Which turns out to be a poor decision because doing so gives me an eyeful of my room, which also happens to be drenched in grays, like I’m watching real life through some stupid augmented reality setting that lets you see everything the way it would appear in some movie from the last century. Except I don’t need any fancy technology to accomplish that; no, sir, I can see the world just like that, all on my own.

I try to trick myself that it isn’t happening by taking a shower, since most of my bathroom’s décor is white anyways, but the shampoo and bodywash bottles give it away. I can’t see color anymore, I can’t see it, that beautiful world is gone.

_You spoiled, spoiled brat. Who do you think you are, acting like you can enjoy yourself, just like that?_

Once I’ve finished up my shower, the reality of it sinks in; that color is just a dream I’m not aloud to have, and I better get back to work if I ever expect to glimpse it again.

* * *

I’m not proud of the fact that I almost break down and call Alexander that morning, but I hold back the urge until our next scheduled day. I’m so out of it that I don’t even plan an activity; I just want to get to him, be by his side, see if that changes anything.

Alexander, unlike anyone else I’ve encountered in this world, is always somehow able to give me the world in color, right from that first glimpse of the red of his riding suit amongst the sepias of the Team Velshtein hanger.

From the outside, his house matches all the other identical houses up the street—all the way down to the painfully gray colors they appear in. I try to ignore it, focusing on making my way into the kitchen, to make coffee like usual. Pretend like it’s normal, pretend like I’m okay and enjoying myself.

I’ve had years of pretending, anyways.

If I listen hard enough, I can hear the sounds of the shower from down the hall. I finish assembling our respective coffee-milk-sugar ratios before Alexander arrives, though the water’s stopped running from down the hall. Half of me feels an unfamiliar flush of interest at the memory of the taxicab a few days ago, but it’s too wrapped up in my anxiety over whether I’ll be able to see him in color again, as if he’ll dye the world around me in full hues. I don’t even bother to touch my coffee, instead pacing hastily across the kitchen floor, my socks slipping on the linoleum, making me feel even more unsteady.

“Morning, Kirsten,” Alexander says, not even sounding surprised anymore. I’m a part of his routine now, someone he doesn’t mind slipping in the door while he’s around. He even gave me a key to save me the trouble of picking his locks every morning.

_You’re just tired,_ I try to tell myself. _The spots of gray come by all the time; you should be used to it by now._

It’s that pathetic reassurance that stops me from screaming when I turn around and face Alexander to see that he’s in black and white, too. Same dark, baggy button up, still slightly damp dark hair. “Morning,” I say in response, mustering up a fake smile and pivoting back towards my spot at the kitchen table. “Coffee’s ready.” Unlike the rest of my plans for the day. Why the hell didn’t I think of something to do? It would have helped me from feeling like a fish out of water.

“Thanks.” Alexander sits across from me, cradling the mug in his hands but not taking a drink yet. I’m left with a jumble of thoughts pounding relentlessly against the sides of my skull: _Why can’t I see him in color anymore? Does he remember anything from when he was drunk? What does he want out of me? What am I going to do so he can’t tell something is wrong?_ “Okay, Kirsten, I know you don’t like serious talk, but will you hear me out for a few minutes?”

I’m so relieved for the chance to not be in charge of the conversation that I immediately nod. “What is it?”

“I’ve been thinking…about our deal.” I take a drink from my coffee cup so he can’t see the beginnings of my frown. Not that he’s looking directly at me, anyways. For all my teasing, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so awkward. Like there’s something he’s hesitating to tell me. “I mean, I know I already said that I don’t plan to turn you into the cops anytime soon—or at all, really. But I was still thinking that…” He trails off.

I put my cup down with a _thunk_, trying not to grimace. My awful mood has not only blunted my sense of color; I can’t even properly appreciate the taste of Alexander’s way too fucking expensive coffee beans. “I didn’t know you were such a pansy,” I say, unable to put the full sarcastic bite into it. Not because I don’t want to tease him, but because I’m absolutely terrified of what his next words might be.

“Right, this isn’t like me.” Alexander takes in a calm breath and finally looks up at me. “I really appreciate what you’ve done. Like I said on the track: you were right, and I was bored. But you helped me a lot and just…” There’s that hesitant look again, and I regret practically downing half my mug of coffee; even with a ton of creamer, there’s too much acid rolling around in my stomach. “I don’t think I could ever think things were boring again. And that’s what you wanted to accomplish, wasn’t it?”

_Oh, so this is what this is._

I don’t know I expected otherwise.

_Fine then, we’ll play it your way._

I cross my arms and go into business mode as quickly as I can so I can get this farce over with. “So that’s it, then? Mission accomplished?” Alexander stares at me, his mouth hanging open uselessly, too stunned to even try to think of a convenient excuse. “Well, congratulations. You no longer get to live your life like an absolute stick in the mud. Seriously, _congrats._”

_Lucky fucking you._

“Kirsten—” he says, but he doesn’t even know what he’s going to say next. Fortunately for him, I can guess.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say, waving my hand in a dismissive gesture. There’s no point to this little game if it isn’t working out in my favor anymore. I’d rather get it over with than torment myself with the faintest possibility of color. “I held up my end of the deal, and you held up yours.” I force myself to say the next words, ignoring the bitter taste they leave in my mouth. “We can call this whole mess off and not worry about feeling any guilt over it.”

He grimaces. “That’s not what I was going to say.”

“Wasn’t it?” He doesn’t come back with an immediate counter to my challenge. “You should know by now that I dislike tedious things. I don’t have time to waste beating around the bush when I could be doing something productive with my time.” Something that’s enough of a thrill that the world explodes into color, like a massive, vibrant paint spill. “Besides, you only have so much longer left in your precious off season. Surely you have better things to do with your time than mess around with some stranger.”

The unpleasant grimace quickly turns into an agitated scowl. Good, let him get pissed off. That’ll make this break a whole lot easier. Who knows, a shouting match might be worth some good adrenaline. “You’re not a stranger to me, Kirsten.”

I let out a laugh, ignoring how spiteful it sounds. “Are you sure about that?” I ask, trapping him in a stare so he can’t look away, even though it hurts to see those green eyes a muted shade of gray again. “You wanna tell me exactly how much you know about me? I mean, what you _really_ know about me.” It’s a trick question, because I haven’t told him jack shit.

Alexander’s competitive nature flares up as he stares me down without a shred of hesitation. “I know plenty about you, Kirsten. Not everything, but enough to know that you don’t really mean what you’re saying. So what’s wrong?”

“What’s _wrong_?” I snort again, dismissing his words as a lucky shot in the dark. “That’s an easy one, _Cunningham_:

_“You piss me off.”_

The words come out much harsher than the first time I said them, back in the Velshtein hanger. I only had a fraction of frustration in me then than I do now. Because before he was just a rich guy who couldn’t even bother to appreciate how good he had it, only dwelling in boredom.

Now he’s someone who’s figured it out and has found that beautiful and fulfilling world while I—

_I’m just stuck in this damn sea of gray._

The jealousy is almost enough to make me nauseous, but I swallow it down and stand up. “Like you said, I did what I wanted to accomplish. I got you off my back.” His gaze follows me, but I don’t bother to look at his face. “So I’ll get out of your way. No harm, no foul.”

“Kirsten,” he says again, my name mixed with the sound of the scrape of his chair against the tile floor.

reaches out for me, catching onto my wrist. I didn’t expect him to actually grab me, which is why I can feel his palm against my skin. Of course, he doesn’t expect me to seriously resist him, so his grip is weak, and I slip away just as easily. If it weren’t for the fact that part of the reason why we were in this whole mess was because I was avoiding the police, I would’ve gone for it and broken his wrist. Tends to work like a charm when you want to cut people away from you.

“Play time’s over, Cunningham,” I say, not even bothering to give him a taunting smile. If I do, he’ll think there’s a chance. “So just give it up and know when you’ve lost, kay?”

He goes to say something, tries to catch my hand again. But it’s already in my pocket as I head for the door, and I’m throwing his spare house key at him the next second. It makes a satisfying _smack_ against the front of his shirt before starting a clattering racket against the floor. I’m gone before the echoes of the sound can even fade.

The gray landscape indistinguishable in my tunnel vision, I run down the street and away from his house. Not that I need to bother. He isn’t following me.

_So just give it up and know when you’ve lost, kay?_

“Oh don’t worry,” I tell myself, “I’m well aware that I’ve lost.”


	18. 17 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_17 mph_

* * *

I powered down the phone that Cunningham knows the number to and tossed it into a corner of my penthouse to rot. If it wasn’t for the fact that a couple of other contacts knew that number, I would’ve just canceled the contract on it, but that would be a waste. Plus if I go that far, then Mariya will definitely know that something’s up, and I sure as hell don’t have the energy to put up with her pestering along with the storm of my emotions.

I don’t have energy for anything, if we’re being honest here.

It’s not my first emotional slump, but it sure doesn’t make it any less of a bitch to put up with. The world is drenched in gray. I lost my best source of excitement. I made such a big show of it that I’d be worried that Cunningham would go ahead and finally call the cops on me if he weren’t such an earnest guy. He told me that wasn’t a threat anymore. Even my being a drama queen and a total bitch won’t change that.

Lying on my couch, arm draped over my eyes, I start to feel my lips quirk up into a smile. Then I stop myself. Why am I just making this harder on myself? If I look back on it fondly, it’ll just be more difficult to get over this. It’s much better to chalk it up to the latest era in my life and forget about the details. Eventually, I’ll get involved with something stupid and dangerous enough that everything with Cunningham won’t matter.

There has to be _something_ in this godforsaken world that will make me feel alive again—

The ring of a phone interrupts my thoughts. I try to figure out what sort of witchcraft Mariya pulled off to turn on one of my phones to contact me—once I realized her pestering was a possibility, I went ahead and shut down every damn piece of electronics in my house after I got home from Cunningham’s. What’s worse is that, no matter how much I ignore her, she won’t stop. Mariya has no qualms about losing out on sleep for a battle of attrition.

Except it’s not the ringtone of one of my cellphones.

It’s the landline.

“Fuck!” I scramble to get up, thoroughly tied up in my blankets. I look a mess with just a baggy tank top and some underwear on, and my hair is beyond tangled, but that doesn’t matter when you’re on the phone. And even though my landline is basically a relic from a whole other era, it works well enough. Dad insisted that I had one for family use, just in case they couldn’t get ahold of me otherwise. I’m sure Mariya has the thing’s number, but she knows better than to do that.

_But if one of them’s calling, then—_

“Hello?”

“Oh, there you are, Kir!” It’s Caleb on the other line, his voice still in the high ranges of tenor, but still sounding a bit older than the last time we called. Living on opposite ends of the country, it’s hard for me to remember that he’s not a little squirt anymore. “Are you okay? You sound out of breath.”

I push a hand through my bangs (way too fucking greasy, _ew_) and try to steady myself on the dresser without knocking over the phone cradle or lamp. “I just jogged over to the phone. I’m fine,” I say, trying to sound like far less of a wreck than I actually am. Not that that will last long if this conversation goes the way I think it will. But I’m the oldest sister, so I should at least try to keep my act together. “Are _you_ okay? What’s going on?”

I must only half succeed at sounding put together, because Caleb makes that little worried sound in the back of his throat. “I’m okay. I just wanted to talk to you. I haven’t heard from you _forever_. And Nate said you’d talked to him a few weeks ago, so I thought I’d give you a call, but then your phone went straight to voice mail and you didn’t call me back, so Dad said I should try the house phone and it worked!”

A breath that I’ve been holding rushes out of me in relief. Dad suggested calling. That means there isn’t a crisis. Glad that our call doesn’t have a video component, I prop myself against the nearest wall and let myself sink down it. “Sorry about that, little man. I’ve been having some technical issues. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“It’s alright, I get to talk to you now!” Caleb sounds beyond pleased, and I don’t have it in me to argue. Thanks to his social media posts, I’ve gotten to watch him grow up even with states between us, and I can imagine the dimple in his smile even without seeing it. “Did you hear? I’m gonna test for my license soon.”

“Oh, yeah?” This time, when the smile tugs at my lips, I let it. Being happy about my family is okay, because those memories aren’t tainted. Not when it comes to Nate and Caleb or Dad. Not even memories of Mom are difficult, though they sometimes bring pain along for the ride. “I’m impressed. Dad decided you’re not a hazard to society enough to consider letting you behind the wheel on your own?”

Though I’m sure that everything’s fine on their end, I toss in a mention of Dad, just to be sure. Caleb may be the youngest of us, but he’s already in high school, plus he’s smart enough anyways. He probably realizes what I’m doing, but he doesn’t complain. “Geez, I’m not as bad as you were! Dad says I’m way better.” _Good, things are okay. Now stop looking for places where you think everything is gonna blow up._ “I’m still mad over that one time you took a turn too fast, and I lost my ice cream!”

This kid’s memory is an iron trap; he was, what—_seven_ when that happened? Of course, I had to clean up the mess in the backseat for it. Not that I ever learned my lesson to be safe. “Ah, yes, naturally. You in your infinite wisdom are the safest driver ever, in memorandum of your poor, fallen ice cream cone. Have you told your friends about that loss? Do they know not to be total idiots behind the wheel so that they can honor the sacrifice?”

“Oh my _god_, Kir.” I can see the flush of red creeping up Caleb’s neck, even when we’re a whole country apart. As the older sister, it’s my duty to embarrass the crap out of my little brothers whenever I can. Lovingly, of course, but still. “Remind me again, do you happen to drive anywhere out there? Or have you been banned to public transport, yet?”

_I don’t need to drive when I can cruise in a super fancy car while— _Ah, hell no. I can’t think that. Cunningham’s not my friend anymore. I will never nap on that criminally comfortable passenger’s seat again. Yeah, that’s the real shame. “You should know by now that if I wanted to make public transport dangerous and exciting, I very well could.”

“Nate was right. You are the worst influence ever.” His joking tone still makes it through his attempt at sounding serious. I could be worse, all things considered. “Oh, yeah! I was wondering, could you help me out with something for his birthday? There’s some stuff I need, but…”

I know where this is going. Caleb is the most creative little sucker I have ever seen, which means that most of his gifts for us are handmade art projects. The caveat is that those require art supplies, and, while Dad does his best, the really nice stuff is pricey. Naturally, it’s my fault that Caleb even likes using the fancy stuff thanks to my habit of tossing money about like it’s water, but still.

For once, I try to put on a “responsible big sister” voice. “And exactly how much of this is actually going to go into making the gift, and how much is to replenish your personal collection?”

“I promise I’m not going overboard! I’m just really running low on a lot of stuff!”

“_Mmmhmmm,_” I say, drawing out the sound. Caleb almost lets out a whine on the other end. “Well, I wouldn’t be spoiling my baby brothers very much if I couldn’t dump some cash to help out with a birthday gift. Just send me links to what you need, and I’ll take care of it. Oh, and be a spy for me and figure out whatever Nate wants.” My original plan was to get him some Velshtein autographs, but that’s not a convenient option anymore. “Don’t let him say something lame like helping out with tuition or whatever. I’m planning on doing that anyways.”

Caleb makes a sound of partway absent agreement, probably already daydreaming about all the pricey things I’m going to be paying for shortly. Might as well if I can. “You’re the best, Kir. I may even forgive you for the ice cream.” I snort, and the sound is so liberating, a reminder that, even when everything else is gray as fuck, I still have the ability to laugh, to live. “Oh! Dad’s been wondering when you’re gonna head our way for the party. I told him I’d ask.”

It takes me a moment to try and pull up my mental calendar, which is even more difficult considering that the past couple of days have blended together. We’re only a few weeks away from Nate’s birthday now, and my usual tradition is to come home for at least a week for special events like that. I was planning the same for this year, since that wouldn’t interfere too much, but now my schedule’s blown wide open. “I haven’t picked yet,” I say, knowing full well I should get on that. “But I’ll work on sorting it out once I’m working on buying your stuff, and I’ll call him when I figure something out, alright?” That’ll be a good project to distract myself with. Family things.

Going _home._

If nothing else will give my mind a hard reset, that will. Flashes of color come easier back there, and it’ll be nice to forget all our problems. Just go ahead and blow some money on making Nate’s birthday more extravagant than the last. Help Dad out a bit. See Caleb before he’s no longer a teenager anymore. And then when I come back here, to IGPX City, I can have a clear head and see what next adventure life will give me.

“Alright, I’ll let him know,” Caleb says, reporting for duty as usual. I can’t help but wonder if he and Nate are so responsible to counter my nonsense. “I should probably get going, though. I have some homework to take care of. I just wanted to check on you. And I’ll be sure to send you those links soon. Don’t forget, Kir!”

“I won’t, I won’t. Go take care of your stuff. I love you, Caleb.”

“I love you, too!”

And with that cheerful sendoff, the call cuts off. I look at the landline and halfway consider unplugging it, too, just in case, but then I really would make everyone panic. If I don’t want to make a mess of things with Cunningham, I can block his number. It’s not that hard. I’ll have to reconnect if I’m going to make some spectacular birthday plan, anyways. Might as well get to it.

I push myself up from the floor and drop the phone back into its cradle, stretching my arms towards the ceiling. I need a shower, and maybe some exercise. A decent meal. Maybe I’ll go splurge on some fancy dinner. I need food, anyways—

_I need pants,_ I conclude as the doorbell rings. I normally don’t get guests in person, but talking to even a random stranger will do me some good. I’m able to swing by my bedroom quickly to find a pair of lounge pants and slip them on, almost hopping towards the door. Maybe a miracle occurred and Mariya actually left her room to come pester me. After that call with Caleb, the world feels full of possibilities.

I wrangle my tangled hair back into a messy bun and pull open the door. It turns out, the world is actually just a bitch.

Somehow, the person standing on the other side is Cunningham.


	19. 18 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_18 mph_

* * *

It takes me far too long to process what’s going on. Undeniably, that’s Cunningham at my door. Even without color, I wouldn’t mistake him for anyone else. That dumb casual appearance and baggy clothes and stupid hair. The only saving grace is that he looks just as stunned to see me as I feel about seeing him, like he didn’t actually expect to see me on the other side of the door.

Or maybe he’s just put off by how much of a mess I look.

I consider slamming the door in his face.

Thousands of alarm bells are going off in my mind. _What good will that do? He knows you’re here. He could easily go ahead and send the cops your way, and you wouldn’t have much luck. He knows where you live, Kirsten, why does he know where you live—?_

Cunningham isn’t the type to have followed me home. I don’t see him hiring an informant to dig up where I live, either.

But I do know an informant who would contact _him_ first.

“What the fuck?” I whisper. The question was more directed at Mariya, but Cunningham’s the one who hears me. I decide to roll with it. Not like our relationship can get any worse than it is now. “What are you even doing here? How did you find me?” _Why didn’t you just let it go when I stormed out of your place?_

Cunningham lets me go on, still with that half-stunned look on his face. “I wanted to see you,” he says, and I hate how sincere his voice sounds. “And someone who said they knew you contacted me and told me where you live.” Yup, that’s Mariya alright. I’m so going to kill her the second I can. Cunningham looks around, scratching at the back of his head. “Come to think of it, this looks a bit creepy, doesn’t it?”

I have to resist the urge to snort; Cunningham finding where I live with unprompted help from Mariya is far less creepy than me intentionally seeking out his home and breaking into it. “What do you _want_, Cunningham?” I don’t have the patience for his joking—don’t have the patience for _anything_, really. Breaking his wrist is starting to sound even more appealing if it has the slightest chance of getting him to go the fuck away.

“Like I said, I wanted to see you. And,” he adds, before I can snap back at him, “I want to talk. I tried calling, and you didn’t answer, so I want to know what I did to upset you so much.” Though I can read his body language enough to tell that he wants to come inside, he stands still, not coming anywhere closer to me than he already is, as polite as ever. “I like to think that we’re friends, Kirsten. Even if I don’t know everything about you. Was I wrong?”

I’ve dealt with my fair share of assholes in the past, who all know how to use pretty words to get their way, who will drag you into mistake after mistake if you let them—and Cunningham isn’t someone like that. He genuinely thinks of us as friends, and I did, too. Part of me still feels that way; that’s why the idea of cutting him out of my life has hurt so much. And life would be so much fucking easier if he _was_ an asshole, because then I could move on.

Because then my jealousy wouldn’t feel so ugly.

I resist the urge to run away (stupid idiot would let me) and shove my hands into my pockets, the soft fabric not even the slightest bit comforting. “This isn’t something that you did,” I say, not having the courage to let him know that wasn’t wrong, that I’d easily call him a friend, even if he hadn’t said it out loud first.

“Kirsten, you don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not lying. This isn’t about you.” Oh, if I wanted an easy out, I could have easily made it about him. But I don’t, and now I’m stuck debating if I should even bother to explain, if how the world looks like nothing but gray could ever make sense to someone who hasn’t seen that sort of thing. _Who the hell else is going to get it if it’s not him?_ “This is about something I couldn’t do.” About how I couldn’t keep a hold of that color, even though I wanted to.

Cunningham’s brow furrows, his brain trying to make sense of what I’m talking about, even though I’m being vague as hell. Does it count as me stumping his level of genius if I’m just not giving him the answers? “What couldn’t you do?” Even the thought of saying the words turns my tongue sour—or maybe that’s just the nasty taste leftover from the past few days of abandoning anything remotely close to self-care. “You helped me. So if I can, I want to help you in return.”

My next laugh is a broken, weak sound, but it’s nowhere near as bitter as when I was trying to get him go away. “That’s just the thing. You’re not the only one who’s dissatisfied with the world.” I can’t stand to see his face when I say it, so I pivot around, taking steps back into my apartment like I’m balancing on the world’s worst tightrope. “You’re not the only one who’s bored every goddamn day.”

A sob catches in my throat, but I refuse to let it out. Instead, I clench my hands into fists and let myself shout, “Because you get to be happy now and I just get to sit around and imagine what the hell it’s like to actually enjoy life since I can’t actually do it! _That’s_ what this is about!” I suck in a breath that shudders but doesn’t turn into tears. I blink a few times, just to make sure I’m not crying, and then I realize that I’ve walked all the way to the opposite end of my living room, the drawn curtain blocking the light from coming in through the glass door that leads to the balcony.

Turning around, I can see Cunningham standing in the doorway. It would take a few seconds for him to cross the distance between us, but he’s still waiting at the entrance, respecting me and the boundaries I put up, even if they’re stupid ones. But I can tell, from the gray-smeared expression on his face, that he wants to be there beside me, wants to offer some help, even though he may not be able to tell what the best approach is.

I let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m not going to call the cops if you come in, you know.”

He waits a moment longer—and then he places one hesitant step inside the doorway, followed by another. Once he gets going, his momentum carries his all the way across to me, standing within arms’ reach, his hands half-raised, like he’s not sure what to do with them. How would his fans react, if they saw the confident and composed Cunningham fidgeting, not knowing what to say next?

Except this isn’t Cunningham, IGPX superstar. _It’s Alexander._

“The other day,” he manages to say, “when I was trying to say that you’d held up your end of the deal, I wanted to say that you could stick around anyways.” _Oh._ I’ve been throwing an unnecessary fit over my own paranoia. Brilliant. “My reason was stupid, though. So how about I return the favor? If you’re saying you’re just as bored as I was, let me help you get over it. Like you did for me.”

If I hadn’t been steeling myself mentally, I probably would start bawling my eyes out right now. But I’m enough in the mental zone that I manage to put on a smirk. “Those are some pretty big words for someone who was having a hard time enjoying himself not even a month ago.”

Alexander blinks once before returning my smirk in kind. “What can I say? I’m not one to back down from a challenge.” After all his hesitation, he raises his hand to give me a pat on the shoulder, the kind he gave to Jan and Dew when they were messing around between rounds of drinks and food. “Besides, I’m pretty sure I saw you smiling more than once when we were together. Or was that some sort of act you were putting on?”

I shake my head, feeling somewhat giddy that he noticed what was going on. _Alexander noticed._ “It wasn’t an act. I did enjoy myself.” More than any stupid, adrenaline chasing stunt I’ve gone on before. Skipping around the world, going on adventures with someone just for fun, even if it wasn’t the craziest trip ever—those weeks with Alexander were enough to wash the gray away, even if it slipped back in. It was _possible._ The thought pushes a fresh wave of tears up to the surface, and this time I don’t have the willpower to hold them back.

“Whoa, are you okay?” Alexander asks, and he sounds seriously panicked now. How often has he had to deal with someone crying?—not often, if Jan and Dew are as protective of him as I think they are. Alexander’s hands come up again, hesitating just short landing on my shoulders. “Kirsten—”

Taking the step forward to close the distance between us, I plop my forehead right down on his button up, though the muscles underneath don’t make it nearly as comfortable as a landing as I was anticipating. At least he can’t see my crying anymore. “I’m okay, Alexander.” It’s the first time I’ve said his name out loud since we fought. Unlike usual, he doesn’t protest. “I just… I want to see things in color again. Will you help me with that?”

With how close we are, it’s easy to hear Alexander swallow. “Is that what it’s like for you?” I nod, not wanting to admit it. Then again, I can’t deny it, either, with my gray tears falling onto my gray carpet, easily one of the most depressing things I’ve ever seen. Alexander lets out a hollow little chuckle. “I guess that’s what it looks like, right? I can imagine that.” Alexander, who’s also lived trapped in boredom. _Who the hell else is going to get it if it’s not him?_ He shifts, and I wonder if he’s going to take me out of his personal space, but his hands rest on my back, a gesture of comfort and solidarity. “I’ll do my damn best to help you out, Kirsten. I promise.”

I nod again, not trusting my voice to come out even. Taking a moment to compose myself, I turn off the valve of tears, deciding to let out any leftover bursts of emotion later. I’m wiping my eyes when I stand up straight again, and Alexander’s hands pat my back one more time before slipping away. “I’m gonna be counting on you. Don’t disappoint me, Alexander.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” His voice is soft, but he’s still reliable. I guess he’s the team captain for a reason. “Besides, if I went and lost where you succeeded, I’d never live it down.”

I cock my head at him with an innocent blink. “Would losing to me a second time really be so bad?”

“See? Exactly like that.” Alexander throws up his arms in mock exasperation, and for a tiny moment, I can see his eyes in green again, though it’s gone second later. It’s still _something_, though, and if Alexander can make me see color in tiny moments like these, I’m not going to waste my chance. “You know, going by our usual schedule, today’s the day we go out and do something fun. You up for an impromptu adventure?”

I roll my eyes at him, because he knows just as well as I do that that’s not even a real question. I flick his chest and turn towards my bedroom. “I’ll go get ready. Make yourself comfortable.”


	20. 19 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_19 mph_

* * *

Thanks to our rigid schedules (and by that I mean Alexander is a responsible pilot and insisted on being ready to report on time for his next round of IGPX training in the morning), we didn’t have a lot of options to fly out somewhere and come back again. I’d been using my much needed shower as an opportunity to figure out what the hell we could even pull off on such a short schedule without setting off another fan riot, but Alexander suggested that we go for a drive somewhere he could show off just what that fancy price tag was capable of.

And, really, I’d heard much worse ideas, so I follow him out the door to his car, plopping into my usual spot in the passenger’s seat and putting the to-go mug of coffee Alexander was kind of enough to make me (and about the only thing he did in my penthouse without explicit permission) into the closest cup holder. A sigh slips out of me as I melt into the leather.

“Fuck, I missed this.”

“I didn’t hear you say anything like that about me,” Alexander says as he starts up the car, and I stick out my tongue at him. What can I say? The car seat is way more comfortable than he is. Alexander works on exiting my building’s parking garage, and soon the sunlight is putting the tint in the windows to work. “I’m glad you decided to come, though. I was worried I’d never hear from you again.”

“Oh, I see. Your plan all along was to get me into your car where I couldn’t easily run away from serious conversations. Very clever.” Alexander’s expression shifts from relief to worry, and I gently smack his arm. “Don’t start getting all nervous like I’m some time bomb. Just talk to me like normal.”

As much as I would have liked to see him flounder a bit more, Alexander draws in a deep breath and composes himself in a near instant, his eyes staying attentive on the road, even though there’s not much traffic headed outside the city. “Alright. Were you planning on avoiding me forever?”

There’s nothing I can do to hide my grimace except be glad that Alexander probably can’t see it with his eagle-eyed stare on the road. I pick up my coffee and take a sip, trying to think of the best way to give an answer that doesn’t sound one-hundred percent awful. But he’s being blunt and honest, and there’s no point in playing games when I’ve already spilled my guts about being bored beyond belief. “That was the plan, yes.” I take another drink, satisfied at Alexander’s correct doctoring of my drink. “Considering we went quite a while without you ever knowing that I existed, I’d say it was a solid strategy.”

“You’re forgetting the part where I would have gone looking for you.” He says it so seriously that I almost spit take all over his fancy dashboard. Should I be so surprised, considering that he ended up at my door anyway. “Though I’ll admit that I didn’t expect a stranger to call me with your address. That worked out a bit better than I expected.”

I let out a non-committal hum, still thinking of all the ways I can go and murder Mariya once I get the chance. “I’m more impressed you answered a call from a stranger.”

“I thought it might be you calling from some different number.” Alexander’s voice is quiet, but with the radio off and his engine hardly making any noise, it’s easy to hear him. “But it was someone else. Sounded like she knew you. Have any ideas?”

“Yeah, she’s a little brat who needs to know when to stay the hell out of other people’s business,” I mutter, but I don’t sound nearly as upset as I want to. Mariya may have a habit of stretching boundaries as far as she possibly can, but she still knows there are lines she’s not allowed to cross, as few of them she respects. She wouldn’t have risked calling Alexander if she wasn’t sure I would forgive her—and, dammit, she’s right, I’d rather have this stupid car ride with Alexander than never seeing him again.

Alexander chuckles at my response. “I’m guessing you didn’t go around handing out my number, then.”

_Oh, trust me, I didn’t have to; Mariya’s the reason I know anything about you in the first place._ At the rate I’m using my coffee to avoid awkward pauses in conversation, it won’t last the next half hour. Outside the car, IGPX City slowly starts to thin out, turning into nothing but dusty highway and a desert that feels like it stretches on forever. “My friend’s kind of an expert at sticking her nose into places it doesn’t belong.” She’s also the scariest hacker I’ve ever come across, as well as my number one enabler for stupid things. Can I really get mad at her behavior when I’m pretty much the worst role model ever? “Sorry if I compromised your security or whatever.”

“Well, I haven’t ended up with a stream of fans calling me, so we’re still safe on that front.” I let out a small sound of agreement, watching the rocks whiz past outside the window. Mariya definitely owes me a favor after this mess. I’ll have to think of a good one to exploit from her. “While we’re being honest here, I want you to know that I was pretty upset with you.”

“Oh?” If I had any sense of sass left in me, I’d come back with something snarky. I can’t really imagine Alexander upset over much; even when I broke into his mech, he sounded half disinterested by the situation—though that might have just been the boredom eating him alive from the inside.

Alexander nods, his eyes flickering to me for the slightest of movements. “You just started putting words in my mouth without even giving me the chance to talk back. I almost thought you were picking a fight to have something interesting to do.”

“I don’t do that anymore,” I say, though there’s no real reason to.

“That so, huh?” I wave for him to continue on, more because I want him to be able to make his point before he goes digging into all my poor life choices. “But, yes. Like I said, it felt like you might have just been going off on me to see what would happen. And then you wouldn’t answer my calls, and I wondered what the hell was the point of forcing yourself into my life if you were going to just do _this_ at the end of the day.” Though there’s a strain in his voice, none of it makes it into his voice or tightens up his body language, the perfect composure of an IGPX pilot who’s used to driving way more dangerous equipment than a fancy sports car under way more pressure.

I’m nowhere near as lucky to have that level of experience, so I awkwardly adjust myself in the seat. “What made you change your mind?” You know, assuming he actually did change his mind and that this wasn’t all just a prelude to him revealing that he thinks I’m still a bitch for what a did—which wouldn’t be wrong, per se.

“Well,” Alexander says, and for the first time ever I see him take a hand off the wheel while he’s driving, fiddling with something, “I recognized that you were probably going through the same thing I was, and it would’ve been kind of stupid to wreck a good thing over something as stupid as that.”

I want to tell him that it wouldn’t have been a stupid reason to ditch me at all, but I don’t get the chance for the words to come out, because the next thing I know, the hot desert wind is smacking my face and getting caught in my throat, completely stealing my words away.

Alexander’s fancy foreign car is also a convertible. I shouldn’t even be surprised. The wasteland around IGPX city sprawls out around us, flat, straight road cutting through a landscape that shows off nothing but the occasional rock and the wide stretch of cloudless sky above us. Even without color, the sight and speed are breathtaking. I don’t even give a damn that the unrelenting sunshine is going to give me one hell of a sunburn once this day is over.

“If you ask me, you’re the stupid one,” I finally summon my voice to say, volume just loud enough to be audible over the roar of wind as it rushes by. And because I have zero sense of self preservation, I unclip my seatbelt and pull myself up to crouch on the seat, using the dashboard as support as my ponytail whips in every conceivable direction. “How fast did you say this thing can go again?”

* * *

“You are so fucking lucky that I’m in a good mood,” I say to Mariya. She practically called me the instant I powered my phone back on—hell, I would believe it if she just straight up admitted to making a program to constantly call all my phones until I turn one back on. Wouldn’t be the most ridiculous thing that she’s done. Instead of pitching a full-out fit, I instead work on starting up my computer so I can get to buying the art things Caleb needs/wants. “Seriously, though, what made you think it would be okay to give Alexander my address?”

“Don’t even act like you’re upset,” Mariya says, as chipper as always. “You only turn off all your stuff when you’re sulking, and I can put two and two together.”

“For most people, two and two doesn’t involve hacking into people’s phone records.”

“Oh, spare me, Kirsten. Besides, you don’t see Cunningham calling me and whining about me giving you his address.”

I click through my emails with way more force than necessary, as if beating up my poor mouse will somehow channel all my frustration through onto Mariya through karma or some shit like that. “I _paid_ you, Mariya. What I asked for was work. What you did was stepping out of line.”

Mariya hums, not even sounding the faintest bit intimidated by my grumbling. Considering that I also avoided _her_ for a few days, she’s probably just happy to hear me go off. “Last I checked, darling, you never told me _not_ to give Cunningham your personal information.” I say fuck it and slam my head straight down in a move I’m sure my keyboard doesn’t appreciate in the slightest. “You avoiding telling him where you lived was silly anyways. Besides, it all worked out.”

I hate when she’s right, because it seriously limits my ability to perform a cohesive argument back. And, all things considered, I don’t feel as bothered by the idea of Alexander coming over to visit as I thought I would. _Stupid nosy genius and her stupid nosy habits._ “Weren’t you just reminding me to be careful like a week ago?”

“Weren’t you actually happy like a week ago?” If hanging up on Mariya would do anything, I’d go for it. Since it won’t, though, I grit my teeth and start opening up the massive pile of links that Caleb has sent me, not giving a verbal response. Mariya heaves one of her big dramatic sighs. “Kirsten, you know I just want you to be happy, right?”

I add things from Caleb’s wish list to my digital shopping cart, not even paying attention to their price tags or the ever growing total, and say through gritted teeth, “I know.”

“Well! So long as you know that, I’ll offer an apology for overstepping my boundaries, but I can’t promise I won’t do it again if it’s better for you.” That’s way more of a concession than I expected, so I’ll take it. She’s not getting out of that favor, though. As if reading my mind, Mariya almost sings, “By the way, don’t you want a new computer, darling? I can practically hear that thing wasting resources from here. Also I can see it by looking over your connection.”

“I am not taking a computer upgrade as compensation for your bullshit. And stop stalking me, dammit.”

“Oh, you want that as your favor?”

“Like hell! I want you to learn some damn manners!” Already through Caleb’s requests, I add a couple other expensive art add-ons to the cart, hoping he’ll like them. Funny how it only takes ten minutes of aimless clicking to complete a purchase in the quadruple digits. “Your favor is put on hold, but I’ll be calling it in one of these days.” And it’s in her damn audio recordings, so she can’t argue otherwise.

But Mariya just laughs, and it takes zero effort to image the grin splitting her face in two. “Roger, roger! Lucky me, getting to hold a special debt to Kirsten!”

Yeah, there are just some things about this girl I’m never going to get.


	21. 20 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_20 mph_

* * *

“Your brother’s birthday is coming up?”

I nod, crossing the kitchen and bearing the usual cups of morning coffee. Alexander looks up from his spot at the island, where the return of the ultra domestic but peaceful morning has happened in full force, a box of fresh baked bagels and all. Except this is my kitchen, and Alexander’s the one over for a visit (he’d claimed it was his right after all the time I’d mooched off him), and Alexander’s the one that has the plan for the day. That means it’s my turn to be the one in the dark, having no idea what wild adventure our get together will bring. My, my, how the tables have turned.

The saving grace is that I’m not nervous at all, instead brimming with a silly bit of anticipation over the mystery, enough that I can see the faintest tints of colors fighting against the gray—and we haven’t even gotten started. The thought is enough that my grin and near skip of excitement aren’t strained in the slightest, and I hop up onto my own bar stool after passing over the mugs. “Yeah, Nate. The brother I wanted to make jealous by taking those pictures with you guys.”

Alexander nods, faintly smiling. “Yeah, that’s right.” It takes me moment to realize he’s happy that I’ve actually said Nate’s name—that I’m comfortable sharing something about my family. I decide to leave out the part where it’s because I feel like I owe him for making a mess of things. “He’s the one that wants to be an IG mechanic, right? You want me to arrange a tour or something for him as a gift?”

“You don’t go halfway with anything, do you?” Sure, what I was about to say was kind of obvious with my lead-in, but leave it to Alexander to crank things up to eleven before I even say a word. Over his coffee mug, Alexander gives me a look that’s saying, _You’re one to talk._ “I was honestly just going to ask if you wouldn’t mind maybe getting some autographs from Jan and Dew for me. Plus if I go ahead and give him a tour, how the hell am I supposed to top that next year?”

“You sure you’re not going to suddenly decide that we should dramatically part ways again by then?”

I reach into the box of bagels and throw a package of cream cheese at him. Chuckling, Alexander lets it bounce off his arm but stops it before it falls to the floor. “You’re the one that came after me. Good luck getting rid of me this time.” Alexander shrugs, and I pluck a blueberry bagel from the offerings, splitting it in half. “But, yes, I’m requesting your help in giving my baby brother an awesome gift. Should I take for asshole comment as a no, then?”

Still laughing to himself, Alexander enjoys his coffee. “I’m sure the guys would be glad to help out with that. I’ll sort something out for the next time we see each other?”

“Much appreciated.” Even without toasting, the bagel’s pretty tasty. I try to note the name of the bakery for later when a thought occurs to me. “Did you tell Jan about what I did? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t appreciate it.” Dew might let it slide, but I’m pretty sure Jan doesn’t appreciate anyone messing with his friends, even though Alexander has given me a pass.

Alexander frowns a bit, lowering his mug from a fresh drink. “I don’t remember you being this paranoid about what other people think about you.”

“I’m not paranoid. It’s just that I don’t wanna alienate someone that would make a good drinking buddy.” Alexander gives me a deadpan look, and I let out a sigh. “We’re friends, Alexander. It doesn’t do me much good if one of _your_ friends is in a bad mood.” Especially when there’s not an easy way to appease someone who’s Alexander’s IG team and probably has as much money as him. I swallow my latest bite of bagel and shift on my stool. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I don’t have many friends.”

“Oh, trust me, I noticed.” If only tossing condiment packages at him hadn’t already failed. Alexander leans onto the counter, his elbows never once touching the surface. “I didn’t really get around to telling them what happened, so you can relax. They noticed I was in a bad mood during practice, but I didn’t get to tell them much. And then I got that call, so the problem kind of resolved itself, didn’t it?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Do you regularly not tell your closest friends about what’s going on in your life?” He didn’t tell them much about me and our deal, either. I may not have a ton of friends, but from what I remember, you usually share that sort of stuff with them.

“It’s not really my first instinct to go talk to other people when something’s wrong. If it were, I would’ve told them about my boredom issue ages ago.” A fresh bite of bagel keeps me from grimacing. Well, when he puts it like that, I’m not one to talk. Alexander shrugs, setting down his mug with a tap against the countertop. “So, no, you don’t need to worry about either of them getting upset with you. We’ll add it to our little pile of secrets.”

“Oh, it’s a pile now? Does that time you dragged me into a lingerie shop count as one of them?” I’m a bit disappointed that I didn’t get a spit take out of him, but the look on his face is priceless regardless. Feeling satisfied, I smirk at him. “I’ll take that reaction as a yes. Don’t worry, as much as I like to embarrass you, I won’t throw you under the bus. Or were you thinking about some other secret I need to take care with?”

Alexander’s cheeks look the faintest bit flushed, though I can’t really make out the color. But I gotta hand it to him, the man recovers quick, and he’s on his feet soon after, car key spinning around his index finger. “How about we call where I’m taking you today a surprise, and we’ll go from there.”

* * *

Unlike the last time Alexander gave me a surprise, he doesn’t ask that I close my eyes. That makes it pretty easy to recognize the building we’ve pulled up to, which is tall and has an obnoxious Team Velshtein logo on it. The fact that the security guard letting us into the parking lot strikes up a conversation with Alexander pretty much confirms what I’m thinking—the guest pass Alexander pulls from his pocket and tosses at me is basically overkill.

I stare at the thing, the thick plastic preventing me from crushing the pass into a ball. “I didn’t realize you guys have ‘Take Your Friends to Work’ Day.” Or in my case, is it “Take the Person Who Broke into Your Hangar to Work” Day? Either way, I drop the lanyard around my neck. “Actually, how is watching you at work supposed to be fun? Don’t you get tired of working your ass off all the time?”

Alexander pulls into his reserved spot right by the door with a smile still on his face. The engine of his car stills with one last hum. “If you want to get technical, this _is_ one of my days off, you know.”

I throw my arms up. “That’s what I’m saying! You’re showing off your workplace when you don’t even have to be here.” I follow Alexander’s lead as he gets out of the car, then starts leading the way towards the entrance. He pulls out an ID card that looks similar to mine, which seems to only serve the purpose of letting him in the door—you know, since you’d have to be pretty dense if you worked for Team Velshtein and you couldn’t recognize the captain on sight. “I’ll bite, though; I’m curious. Why are we here again? Have you finally come to your senses and are turning me into Sir Hamgra?”

Leading the way down a pristinely clean hallway, Alexander makes sure I can see him rolling his eyes. “You’re never going to stop making jokes about that, are you?”

“Nope,” I say, popping the p and clasping my hands behind my back. The chill of the AC inside is enough that I can feel the goosebumps forming on my skin. “And you’re not very smooth about dodging the question, either. Try again.”

“As impatient as ever.” Alexander pauses before an elevator, pressing the call button. “You certainly never went ahead and spoiled any of your surprises for me. Don’t see why I should do the same.”

I toss my ponytail over my shoulder, stepping inside the elevator once the doors open. Alexander swipes his ID card again before selecting a floor. “How about because I can really only think of like five things that we’d be doing in your home base, and most of them involve not so great things for me?” Dammit, if I’d known about this, I would’ve had Mariya make sure there weren’t any messes.

“Kirsten, I think we’ve already established that I’m not going to turn you in. Can’t you think any more creatively than that?” Oh no he did just not. I scowl at him, but Alexander just smirks. “Do remind me, how did we meet again?”

“I decided to take a field trip to check out your mech.” It’s the most neutral way I can think of to say it, not wanting to risk there being a camera recording this.

“And what made you want to do that?”

It’s not just a question to get me to realize his point; I’ve never told him the answer, never given him the chance to ask the question. Since the elevator doesn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon, I lean back against the wall. “Because becoming an IG pilot would’ve taken too long, and I thought it would be exciting to see what one was like.” The closest I could imagine myself getting without getting locked into the sport.

Alexander nods as the elevator moves up a few more floors, then pings to a stop. And just like that, he’s leading the way again, with me matching his pace. “Well I’m about to give you one better than that. A little bit of excitement that those little racing simulator games can’t match.”

“Are you for fucking real?” Another pristine and clean hallway, another flash of his ID, and then we’re in a room. A line of computers and technical readouts presses against one wall, looking like the younger but no less impressive cousin of the Team Velshtein hangar down at the IG track. There’s some chairs and papers on desks, suggesting that people normally inhabit this space, but there’s no one around to greet us. Alexander crosses the room to one of the systems, starting it up, while I’m left gaping at the three cornerstones of the room.

From the outside, they look like nothing more than big white rooms with doors, most of their impressiveness coming from their sizes. But even I can put all the pieces together, thanks to what Alexander just said and considering where we are. This has to be one of the training rooms, so _those_ have to Velshtein’s piloting simulators. I can’t decide whether Mariya or Nate would geek out more about these things in person—or which one of them will be more jealous once I mention that I got to check some out.

“You do know that I’ve never actually learned how to pilot a mech before, right?” I ask, feeling way too out of my element to think of something clever to say. Because, despite myself, I can already feel my body thrumming from the excitement, the anticipation of what’s going to happen today.

Alexander finishes up whatever he’s working with and crosses the room, patting my shoulder as he passes by. “Practice makes perfect, yeah?” I can see his smile in the full course of colors, the sight so beautiful that I don’t rise to the taunt. “Let’s get you suited up, then we can start with the basics.”


	22. 21 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_21 mph_

* * *

The thing is only a simulator, but it still operates best when you have a piloting suit on. Alexander, Jan, and Dew all have the wrong body type for me to fit into any of their gear, but occasionally some of the team techs need to step into the things to do maintenance work, so they have their own equipment that’s far less intensive than an actual IG suit, but it gets the job done. And since one of the techs happens to be around my size, I get one of their spares to use.

“You did ask for permission for this, right?” I ask for like the fifth time, raising my voice loud enough to be heard through the door as I change. Velshtein has a changing room way too big for three people, and Alexander is waiting for me outside. “Like I’m not gonna have someone wonder what the hell I’m doing with their clothes, right?”

“If you’re feeling sick, Kirsten, I can take you back home.” I throw one of my tennis shoes at the door, bringing out a satisfying slam; just because I don’t want to cause trouble doesn’t mean I’m sick. Alexander chuckles, the sound muffled, but still bright. “Come on, relax. I went through the whole process of making sure we could use the equipment and other things from everyone involved. You think Sir Hamgra would have let me into the building if I hadn’t?”

“I think it’s fucking weird that you all call him ‘sir’ like it’s perfectly normal.” Done with changing, I ball up my street clothes and leave them aside, skipping over my own shoe as I step out of the door. Adjusting my ponytail, I turn to Alexander. “But you make a fair point. Where do I sign the waver that says anything that goes wrong today is your fault and I’m innocent?”

Alexander laughs again and gestures for me to follow him over to the simulator. “I know better than that. How’s the gear feel?”

“Close enough.” I tug at the sleeve, which is a bit too short for my arms, but everything else feels fine. Rather than some obnoxious tight fit, things are a bit loose, like wearing a familiar track suit. It’s not as complex as the full racing suits—those have all sorts of protections in them to help cushion against the kind of damage that can happen when you’re using a giant robot to pummel the crap out of other robots—but it does have all the right sensors for monitoring performance. I’m pretty sure it’s even the same red as the team’s own mech suits, but I haven’t gotten a good color glimpse at it yet. Alexander, however, hasn’t changed at all. “You didn’t want to do matchies with me? I’m offended.”

Stepping up to the simulator, Alexander leans over the opening, adjusting who knows what. “Since I’m the only person here to do monitoring, I’m gonna have to pass on riding with you today. Go ahead, take a seat.”

Without too many other options, I do as he says. The seat isn’t as comfortable as the one in his car, but it’s got plenty of cushioning, and it feels similar to the actual cockpit in Alexander’s mech. Unable to resist the temptation, I grab onto the controls, not even the gloves of the practice suit able to erase the utter thrill that courses through me. _And this is just the simulator._ What’s it like for Alexander when he gets in his mech, about to head out on the course for a race?

“I can’t believe you had the audacity to be bored when doing _this_ all day is your job,” I say under my breath.

“Thankfully, I don’t have that problem anymore.” I only catch a glimpse of Alexander’s mirthless smile before he adjusts as best he can to lean against the side of the simulator, looking over my position. “Not a bad grip for a rookie, but you really want to get your wrist at this angle. It’s easier to move that way.” He doesn’t even hesitate to reach out for my hands, adjusting them just so before pulling back, leaving me to get a feel for things on my own. “Much better. Okay, let’s talk basic controls. When you press forward…”

And just like that, I’m in a tutorial for how to pilot a mech. Some thing I’ve heard of, since I did do my due research and all into the idea before giving up on joining the IG leagues, but that was ages ago, and memory hasn’t been on my side. Alexander’s stupid genius side is in full swing, too, and he doesn’t miss a beat in his instructions—or maybe that’s because of the strict standards of his training? Either way, I’m too busy trying to keep up to complain about how fast he’s going, and the pounding of my heart from adrenaline doesn’t seem like it’ll let up anytime soon.

“...and then these switches are what swap you in and out of speed mode. But we’ll mess with that after you get the basics down.” I run my fingers over the buttons on the handles without pressing down on them, trying to remember where everything is. Alexander stands up straight and stretches his arms out before shoving his hands back into his pockets. “Congrats, you’ve just completed the first lesson in rookie training 101.”

I release my pent up breath, but the tension is nowhere near gone from my shoulders, even though I know better. I urge my muscles to calm down as a sink back into the pilot seat. “How many other lessons are there?”

“That depends on how far you wanna go. With mech updates and new IG regulations, there’s always something new to figure out.” He gives me a broad smile, and I don’t think I’ve seen him look so pleased; for all his boredom issues, he seriously does love the IGPX. “But in your case, this should be enough to get you started. What do ya say, Kirsten? Want to go for a ride?”

“Is that even a real question?” It’s just a dumb simulator. I should not be this damn excited. But I’m ecstatic anyways, and I grip onto the controls, paying attention to the angle of my hands, just like Alexander taught me. “Let’s roll, Captain.”

Alexander turns away and crosses the room before I can see his reaction, and then the hatch is closing down. The consoles light up the would be darkness, though it’s still dimmer than the fully illuminated room outside. My eyes don’t have much time to adjust, as the screen lights up before me, showing a simulated image of the IGPX track, in such pristine quality that it looks real. Yeah, the IG racing games at the arcades have nothing on this. I still agree that it would’ve been a hassle to get into the leagues, but fuck I’ve been missing out.

“Alright,” Alexander’s voice says through the mock cockpit’s speaker systems. I just have it set up for basic controls, so no challenge scenarios or anything.” I think I remember him mentioning something about training against AI opponents before. Probably not something that I can handle, though it sounds ridiculously fun. “Have at it, Kirsten. I’ll monitor you from here.”

The adrenaline is still burning through me, and I hum more to myself than in response. I go over the crash course in controls one more time in my head before I push on the handle, urging the mech forward. Right away, the camera starts moving and I can feel the faint shakes in the simulator, imitating the movements of a mech walking, the massive steps slow but powerful. What’s it like when you’re walking out onto the track, knowing that thousands of people are watching you, that the thrill of the race is ahead.

“Yeah, I’m extra pissed off that you get to do this for a living,” I mutter, half in jest. Whatever mic I have in there is enough for Alexander to hear even my quiet words, and he laughs in response.

“Forgive me?”

“Only ‘cause being your friend has such great perks.”

As much as I can feel my body sparking, walking isn’t enough. It takes me a moment to find the right setting to toggle, but then the simulation swaps the mech into race mode, and my next push on the accelerator sends the image of the track ahead of me flashing by in a blur. I can hardly make out the road, let alone the rest of the simulated surroundings. And with five other mechs on the track at any time, it’s a wonder pilots aren’t constantly crashing into each other, especially when they’re racing to be number one, to go _faster_—

I’m not exactly sure _what_, but I push something in the controls just the wrong way, and next thing I know the image is flipping, the simulator shaking from the virtual impact of my rather spectacular crash. I get bumped around a bit, but the cockpit is just the right amount of padded to prevent what might have been a rather nasty injury on the actual track.

“Ah, man,” Alexander says, not even his manners keeping the laughter out from his voice, “been a while since I’ve seen anyone go so hard on the throttle even the simulator won’t keep them balanced. That seriously takes me back.”

“You weren’t a genius from the start? I want my money back.”

“No need for a refund. Jan and Dew were the ones that got ahead of themselves. I was a stellar pilot from day one.”

“Show off.” I snort, taking a moment to stretch my arms out as best I can in the space. The image of the sky on the screen above me is an amazing desert blue. “Is there a trick to getting this thing back up, or can you just handle that from your end?”

“Technically I can handle it, but you’ll be wasting good practice if you don’t do it yourself,” Alexander says, his tone a blend of amusement and fondness. I wonder what sort of face he’s making. “Then again, that’s up to you how you wanna handle it.”

All things considered, I shouldn’t be worrying much about learning how to make a mech stand up from a fall when I likely won’t ever have a practical use for that knowledge. But I’m also the type to push every experience to the fullest, and I don’t want to waste a single chance I have.

“Alexander, I’m planning on stealing all your piloting secrets. Tell me how.”

And somehow sounding just as enthusiastic as I am, Alexander answers.

* * *

Before I know it, several hours have passed, and when Alexander pulls me out of the simulator, it’s way past the time for lunch. At this point, we might as well call whatever we eat next dinner, really. My stomach rumbles for food, and I didn’t even notice thanks to the friendly buzz of excitement radiating throughout every cell.

Compared to what IG1 pilots pull off, I didn’t learn anything impressive. Basic piloting. How not to make the mech fall over every five seconds because of excessive enthusiasm on my part. Getting the positions right for swapping in and out of speed mode. Avoiding nausea from the rush of speed around obstacles like the hills and loops. Nothing even close to combat controls or simulated clashes with opponents.

But it was still unmistakably…_fun._

“I know repeating the same thing over and over probably isn’t the most fun thing in the world for you, but we can come and use the equipment whenever you like, so long as I have the day off,” Alexander says, leading the way back to his car. He presses the key fob as an awkward expression falls over his face. “Well, Sir Hamgra probably won’t like it during the season, but until then, we can come here together. It was… Well, this was the best I could come up with when it came to surprising you.” He pauses, both in speech and stride, and I raise an eyebrow, indulging in the rare sight of watching him fumble over his words. “How was it?”

I look at him, brilliant green eyes, tousled brown hair, the faintest red coloring of embarrassment creeping across his neck. If he could see what I see, he’d know the answer, but without that option, we need to exchange words.

“You pass for today,” I say, smacking his back and taking the lead towards the exit. “Be sure to give me a good show next time, too.”


	23. 22 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_22 mph_

* * *

My next several outings out with Alexander turn into more simulation runs, and I have zero complaints about that. I couldn’t stick with anything _permanently_ before it turned into a blurry gray mess, but plenty extreme sports and the like required several months of practice before you could get into anything good, so I knows how to dedicate myself to the basics without complaint. Besides, my control has so many areas to improve on that each little accomplishment adds to my excitement and paints the world in brilliant colors that, while not always there, grace my vision from anywhere between one to two days past a simulator session.

The better I get, the more excitement and adrenaline I can experience. Paired with regular meals and chats with Alexander, it’s a wonderful balance between the high energy exploits I craved and the mundane moments I’d come to treasure. What more could I want?

_Don’t get too spoiled,_ I remind myself, the memory of waking up to eternal gray still stinging my heart. _Even Alexander got bored enough by this. You might end up the same way._

But I can’t shake the feeling that Alexander won’t let that happen to me.

He won’t let me experience the same disillusionment that he did.

_How lucky can I possibly be?_

I’ll take it.

* * *

It doesn’t take me long before I recognize that we’re not taking the same route to the Team Velshtein building as usual, and I sit up a bit straighter in Alexander’s passenger seat, as if looking around the streets will let me know what’s going on inside Alexander’s head. “Detour?” I ask.

“Something like that.” Though he’s putting in an admirable effort, Alexander can’t keep he excitement fully out of his voice or off his face. I’m the one who doesn’t get the inside joke. “I got a special offer to do some test runs for the company that manufacturers our mechs, and I thought you’d be interested in seeing this.”

I can’t even be mad that he’s being a workaholic since he does seem to be genuinely thinking of how I’d enjoy the results. “And what is exactly is ‘this—’” air quotes for emphasis “—supposed to be?”

“Well, you know how it’s possible for pilots to pair up with certain animals to have as copilots, right?”

I nod. “It’s something like sharing brainwaves, right?” From hazy memories with Nate, I think I understand the basics of it—like, the basics of basics, really. He’s always been more interested in the bigger picture mechanic issues, but that doesn’t stop him from enjoying learning about the other tech advancements involved. “Wait, don’t tell me you’re getting an animal partner. It’s gotta be a dog, right? I can’t imagine you with a cat.”

Alexander shakes his head, looking amused. “Everyone says that, but I really am more of a cat person.” I try to picture it, but it just doesn’t come together in my head. Realizing that we’re getting off topic, Alexander refocuses. “But, no, I’m not getting an animal partner. I don’t have the compatibility for it, and even if I did, Dew’s allergic to pet fur anyways.”

Ah, poor guy. Caleb has the same problem. Not that it helps me understand the slightest bit of what Alexander’s planning. “Okay, you’re not getting an animal copilot. Why are we talking about this again, then?”

“Because they’re working on tech that makes copiloting possible for two people.”

It takes me far longer than it should to realize what he’s talking about, and when I do, a shocked “Ehhh?” spills out of my mouth. “You’re shitting me, right? I didn’t even know they were working on stuff like this.” I mean, sure, I don’t have a lot of reason to know since I don’t keep up with it, but I feel like Nate would know if something like that would be going on. “Are they gonna update the league rules to let pilot teams in, or is it gonna be its own bracket, like there are with other sports? I mean, even if they’re smart to assist in the cockpit, an animal is one thing, but I feel like having two humans would be unfair.”

Alexander takes the moment as we stop at an intersection to send me a cheeky grin. “Look at you, taking an interest in my line of work. Keep that up and Jan and Dew will believe that cover story about you being a big fan no problem.”

I scoff, reining in my big, rambling mouth. “I care because Nate’s gonna care, and I’m a good sister who encourages her baby bros’ hobbies and interests.” Thankfully, the light turns to green, and then Alexander’s back to his whole safe driving schtick, so I’m spared from him watching me. “Is bringing the guys up your subtle way of telling me they’ll be here, too? I’m guessing you’re doing some sort of test runs? Even the mighty and powerful Cunningham Hume can’t handle a two-pilot mech on his own.”

“Yeah, the guys will be there,” Alexander says, his words almost humming between his lips, “but the plan isn’t for me to copilot with one of them.”

* * *

I stare at myself in the mirror for several long minutes, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. At first glance, I look the same as ever, though the shaved side of my head’s getting long enough to need a touchup before I head home for Nate’s birthday. I have bigger problems than needing a haircut, though.

I’m in a mech suit. Not the high-tech tracksuit testing getup, but an honest to god mech suit, with the cushioning and armor and readouts and everything. There’s no way this thing is a borrowed piece of equipment, because it fits me like a damn glove, hugging my skin underneath without looking overly sexy thanks to all the attachments. I don’t know how I feel about the implication that Alexander figured out my size enough to get this made, or that it means I’m probably gonna end up in a real mech and not a stupid simulator. It’s enough to make my stomach crawl from the almost foreign feeling of anxiety.

Except I can tell that the mech suit is that vibrant Velshtein red, my full blast color vision telling me how I _really_ feel about what’s going to happen. That’s just like my body, to betray me when I should feel something else—indignation, maybe?

I try to click my tongue, but the smile on my face kind of ruins the effect. Knowing that I’m better off getting started instead of overthinking, I pivot to the locker room’s exit and head out the door.

Team Velshtein is waiting for me, all suited up and ready to roll. It’s no surprise that they finished getting ready before me, since they’re the pros and it’s a damn miracle I figured all the attachments on the getup on my own. Though I recognize Jan and Dew’s faces, they almost seem like distant celebrities when they’re ready. Even Alexander looks different in the form fitting mech suit, a far cry from his usual baggy ensemble.

Dew nods his approval. “You were right, Cunningham. You wouldn’t be able to guess she’s a rookie if we didn’t know better.” He adds a thumbs up. “You like you’re ready to race anytime.”

As if my face isn’t already burning enough, Alexander asks, “Everything fit okay?” like the fact that he had this suit waiting for me _isn’t weird at all_.

I narrow my eyes at him. “I don’t recall giving the information you need to buy me clothes, Alexander.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have been able to make this a surprise if I asked you up front, so I went and chatted with a mutual acquaintance of ours instead.” There’s only one person that could ever mean. Damn him for mentioning Mariya in front of his teammates where I can’t call him out on it, and damn _her_ for chatting with Alexander behind my back. Brat never wants to talk with people or make friends unless it gives her the upper hand.

_It’ll be worth it when I get to step in the mech,_ I try to tell myself. _Getting to ride in an actual mech will be so fucking worth it, so just hang on Kirsten!_ I hate that Alexander was probably counting on that reaction to get away with this, but he’s right—

I’m sure as hell not about to stir up trouble when the ultimate adrenaline rush is _so fucking close._

“If we’re all ready, we should get going before the engineering folks start to get antsy,” Jan says, giving a rational place for me to redirect my energy. He smiles at me, the wariness from when we went out to drink gone. “You ever seen a mech up close before?”

_Yeah, sorry, can’t give you the honest answer to that one._ “Not unless you count the simulators and pics of stuff online. Nate’s talked my ear off about the things, though, so it’ll be cool to see what it’s like.” Too bad mech suits don’t have much in the way of pockets; bet if I snapped a selfie of me from the cockpit and sent it to Nate, he’d have a conniption.

“Damn,” Dew says, “you’re in for a treat, Kirsten.”

And not doubting it for a second, I fall into the guys’ easy chatter, out suited footsteps echoing against the walls and following us down the hallway.

* * *

Given that I’ve only driven a simulator for roughly a week, it’s no wonder that I’m stuck on the sidelines for most of the session.

Part of that is because the research team in charge of this new piloting system has needed to run a handful of physicals on me. Stuff like collecting my weight, my general health, reaction times, etc. While Alexander and the boys already have that info ready to go because of their extensive piloting experience and strict team regimens (Sir Hamgra’s anal tendencies strike again!), I’ve never come close to any of that. So medical assessments here we go.

Thankfully it’s not a total wash, since the mech suits have a lot of sensors in them that can apparently get a decent read on most of my vital statistics without a live person so much as looking at me—scary and cool at the same time. The more pilot specific stuff like my solo skill levels take place in a simulator not unlike the one at Velshtein’s base of operations, and the research folk combine that performance with the data automatically gathered from my training systems. Based on what they’re saying, they’ll use my standard solo info as a baseline to compare when I actually get in a mech as a test pilot for the dual cockpit system.

I don’t hear too much of the technical details. I’m too busy staring down the mechs and test runs.

Unlike Velshtein’s sleek white and green models, the test dual cockpit is plain, unfinished metal with no need for decoration. I wouldn’t say I’m an expert, but it looks wider, too, and the overall design is less tricked out than top of the line and it seems more like the generic models used by IG-3 teams who are just starting out and don’t have the budget for customization.

Based on what the guys are saying though, all the inside parts are quality, so I suppose that’s what matters most. Between my own tests, I watch the Velshtein boys trade out in pairs as they adjust to the new piloting system. I guess after having the controls to yourself for so long, it’s a bit of an adjustment to share with someone else. Jan and Dew wobble a bit on their first go around, almost making the mech trip before they go all-out on the track. Alexander, however, is still a damn genius, and whenever he’s in the cockpit he manages to move the mech as smooth as his own, even with someone else piloting with him.

_What a show-off._

Though I’m not in the cockpit, the close proximity to a real mech plus my own successful simulation runs (I set a new speed record) have me adrenaline buzzing and happy, and I smile idly as I watch the footage of Alexander and Dew’s latest lap around the track, the research team’s excited jargon flying right over my head.

“Very nice work,” one of the researchers says into the intercom mic. “We’d like to collect some other types of data, but we can wrap things up for the day if you want to dock the mech.

“Man, is it time already?” Dew asks, and I can hear his voice over the speakers. “I swear, the hours fly away from you when you’re resting.” Watching along with me, Jan nods at the same time I do, bobbing our heads in agreement.

“I can feel that,” Alexander says, and I recognize the spark of excitement in his voice, clear as day. It’s nice, enjoying life with people you like close by. “Oh, but would you guys mind if we did one more quick round? I think Kirsten should give this a shot.”


	24. 23 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_23 mph_

* * *

Alexander may have worded his request casually, but the researchers are all agreeing in no time. You know, because he’s Cunningham freaking Hume.

I’m not complaining, either. It’s only because I know it’s super dangerous to step outside of the safety zones in the hangar when you’ve got a mech coming in to dock, and even _that_ knowledge is just barely holding me back. Trying to get the energy at least somewhat out of my system, I bounce on my heels from my position next to Jan.

“Excited much?” he asks, the chuckle obvious in his voice.

I nod, not stopping my bouncing in the slightest. “Did Alexander not tell you that I’m kind of a massive adrenaline junkie?”

“Oh, no, he definitely did. I just thought he was exaggerating. Now it’s pretty obvious that he wasn’t.”

I flash him a grin as the heavy footsteps of the approaching test mech shake the ground, sending vibrations through my entire body. “If you think I’m unbearable now, just wait until I get out of the thing. You guys are gonna regret ever letting me into your simulator, let alone this.”

Jan hums a bit, a faint smile curling at his lips. “I dunno. I think it’s been pretty worth it so far.”

Before I can answer, the mech finally halts and the cockpit pops open while the research team works on deploying the loading platform. Dew’s head pops into my vision first, and he waves at us, a grin stretching over his face. Jan and I return the gesture as Alexander comes into view next. I can see them talking to each other, but it’s a bit too quiet for me to hear over the research team setting things up and calling out instructions to each other.

“Ms. Tailor, can we have you head up please?”

I snap out of my stupor, and Jan smacks me on the back. “Have fun out there, Kirsten.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that!” I say, already jogging over the loading platform. Funny how the last time I was on one of these, Alexander was trying to get me _out_ of his mech. I secure the latch, grip on the railing, and continue bouncing, as if that can somehow deplete my energy stores when I’m so keyed up. Before I know it, I’m level at the cockpit, and Dew deftly hops out of the cockpit with practiced ease and holds up a hand in a gesture of _tag out_.

I provide a high five and basically leap into the now empty seat to Alexander’s right. “See?” Dew says. “I told you that she was gonna steal my spot.”

“Don’t worry, Dew. There isn’t enough money or adrenaline in the world that could make me put up with Hamgra. You guys can keep him.” I put a hand to my chest in a dramatic gesture, though there’s not much I want to do more than grab onto the controls and get rolling. “Besides, I was pretty sure we’re bros, and what sort of bro would I be if I stole your job from you?”

“You’re right, you’re a stellar bro.” There’s some shout from below, and while I don’t hear it, I recognize what it’s about once there’s a mechanical whir and Dew starts to grow shorter—they’re taking the loading platform back down. That means it’s gonna be time to pilot.

_Piloting a real fucking mech._

The styling of the copilot cockpit has roughly the same layout as the standard simulators, with only a few adjustments. To prevent issues in case something happened to one pilot, each seat has its own set of controls (theoretically allowing the remaining one to get to safety or still handle the mech or just plan out preventing overlap and hands bumping into each other). It’s the right mix of familiarity from what I’ve learned and a whole new experience to increase the shivers running a multi-lap race up and down my spine.

Alexander gives me several moments to take my surroundings and freak out a little before he clears his throat. I tear my eyes from the console to look at him, and he nods to a switch in the middle. “Wanna do the honors?”

I hold still for one more blink and then I reach out and flick the switch.

The cockpit closes up, its lid nestling above us and turning the outside world into a sliver of light. First there’s dark, then Alexander guides my hand down to the next control (why am I not surprised that he already memorized a new cockpit layout?), and then the blackness vanishes as the screens and cockpit lights come to life, a soft dark blue resting over everything as the outside video feeds come to life. I can see Alexander beside me, his normal semi-smug smile stretched out into a grin.

I adjust to reach for the main controls, not looking away. “What’s that look for?”

“I’ve been looking forward to seeing your reaction to this,” he says without a shred of hesitation. “I mean simulators are cool and all, but they’re nothing on the real deal.” There’s a voice over the speakers giving the all clear to move from the hangar to the track, and Alexander forges on without warning. Lucky him I’m too exhilarated from the sensation of movement to argue. There’s just enough motion that I can tell we’re going, but we can barely feel the sensations of the mech’s footsteps from inside the cockpit. I guess it would be an issue if you got rattled around too much in there when half of the point of the IGPX is that the robots don’t just race, the beat the crap out of each other, too. “You’ve gotten pretty good at making adjustments to keep balance in line, Kirsten. Why don’t you start with that, let me handle the rest, and we can build you up another day?”

“Okay.” The word pops out of my mouth, beyond eager, and I turn to the outside camera feed, letting my practiced movements keep us steady. Sometimes I instinctively push the ignition, too, but Alexander is a still a goddamn pro and compensates in his controls so we don’t have any toppling incidents. In a fraction of the time it would take us to walk on foot, we’re at the starting line for the research team’s track, and I think I must just burst from the excitement. I can’t even make out the call over the intercom, someone saying we’re clear for launch.

I don’t _have_ to, because Alexander _grins_, and I hardly have the time to put my eyes forward as we rocket away from the starting line.

It’s basically the equivalent of going on a roller coaster with your eyes wide open, minus the rush of the wind pressing against you. The entire world on the monitor turns into aggressive blurs of color, _just_ enough for me to make out where the track is. What little of the world I can make out further in the distance doesn’t move nearly as fast, but I don’t have the time to concentrate on that. The punch of initial acceleration was enough to push me against the back of the cockpit, but now I’m part of the inertia, though the adrenaline in my body and the cockpit’s speedometer won’t let me forget how fast we’re rocketing through the world.

_Two-hundred miles an hour._

_Higher._

_Faster—_

“You’re not doing half bad,” Alexander says, and my practice must have done some good, because I manage to keep up my job of balance, even when I feel somewhat dazed from the rush. That means Alexander is handling the brunt of the work, but I’m still in the cockpit, still doing _something_. “We put you through the paces and you might be able to pull off something spectacular.”

“Like I said before, I’ll pass.” How does he manage to sound so nonchalant while doing this? Even though I’ve done my share of extreme sports, doing this feels completely different, like it’s gone a step beyond. “But I won’t be opposed to being your training buddy if it gets me this. Good luck trying to get me out of this thing.”

Alexander’s laugh makes his grin all the more obvious, and I’m pretty sure our expressions are matching. “Well then, if you’re gonna be my training buddy, you’re gonna need to get used to as much as this is possible.” I glance at him from the corner of my eye, just in time to see him push harder on the controls. “Hold on tight. Round two is where things get real!”

I see the starting line come back around, and then it’s behind us in less time than it takes to blink.

* * *

My very first ride in a mech goes for three laps—the standard for a race, and Alexander basically has to wrangle the controls away from me before I let him stop the mech. We didn’t mess with any of the combat stuff, but I don’t care. Even just zipping along, with that much power under your hands, plus when you toggle into speed mode and everything goes faster—

“I think I’m in love with that mech,” I say, half joking once my feet are back on the ground. I look back up at the machine fondly and place my tiny hand against its massive leg.

“Well, it was your first ride, so no wonder,” Jan says, approaching with Dew at his side. Both of them have already changed back into their street clothes, a contrast to Alexander and I still standing around in our mech suits. “I still remember my first bot. Too bad she got all beat up. I still would use her if I could.”

“Oh, yeah, I get that feeling. But you can’t deny that the new ones are something else, too,” Dew says, nodding along. Following Alexander’s lead, I work on stretching out my shoulders. “How about we go grab something to eat together? To celebrate Kir’s first ride and a day of hard work well done.”

I’m still riding the adrenaline high, but I can faintly feel the twinge of hunger in my stomach. Yeah, probably wanna tend to that. I put on my most innocent-looking smile and cock my head. “Alexander’s treat?”

“Is it just your goal to make me pay for everything? I know you have money.” Jan and Dew start laughing, and Alexander looks up to the high ceiling of the hangar in defeat. “Fine, I’ll cover you as a congratulations present. But Jan and Dew are on their own.” That cuts off their laughter real quick, replaced with the sound of protests, and I’m pretty sure I hear the word “favoritism” mixed in there. Alexander ignores them with a practiced ease. “Come on, Kirsten, we should go get changed if we want to eat at a decent hour.”

“Oh, yeah.” The mech suit almost feels like part of my skin, and if it weren’t for the fact that I’d attract way too much attention in public (plus that it’d be kind of gross), I’d never take the thing off, just for the reminder of what just happened. I give the guys a quick wave and start to head back towards the changing area. “You guys pick where we go. I don’t care much.” At this point, food is going to be food.

Plus, I have some other things to clear out of my mind.

* * *

Once I’m back into my street clothes, I have to admit it feels nice. The mech suits have all sorts of breathability in them, but I still worked up a sweat while riding, and it’s nice to take a very short spray down of a shower and get back into ordinary mode. The research crew just told me to leave the mech suit behind, and they’d handle maintenance.

Now if only they could handle maintenance on my mind…

One of the reasons why I get sucked back into the gray so often is that adrenaline is its own type of drug—you reach out for it enough, and then it takes more to get high. That mech ride has blown anything else I’ve ever done out of the water, but it’s not just that.

It’s Alexander.

Alexander makes it so much easier to feel happy, to feel excited, to feel like the world is worth it. Alexander makes it so much easier to see color. I don’t want to let that go. I _never_ want to let that go. _So wouldn’t the easiest way to keep him around be…?_

I bite my lip as I work on pulling my hair back into a ponytail. I have to stop myself, because I’ve done this sort of thing before: pursue something because it seemed like a good way to anchor someone to me. It’s manipulative at worst. Alexander doesn’t deserve that. If I try, would it just be to keep him around? Would it turn into the same kinds of mistakes as before?

_No,_ realize as I make sure my wallet and such are secure in my pockets, _for Alexander, it wouldn’t just be to manipulate him._ Oh, goodness, I’m stupid. What if I gotten myself into?

Well, I’m not one to back down from a challenge.

Mind made up, I clap my hands together, the sound echoing against the walls, and then I march out the door with a purpose. Alexander is leaning against the opposite wall, waiting, and he looks up when he notices me. “Hey, Jan and Dew went ahead to get our table, so—”

And before he can even finish that sentence my hands are on the wall around him, I’m stretched up on my toes to reach, and I push my lips into his.


	25. 24 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_24 mph_

* * *

It’s been way too long since I’ve done anything like this, so it takes a moment for my brain to catch up with what’s going on—y’know, with the fact that I decided that kissing Cunningham Hume in a public hallway is a good idea. Definitely not the most shameless thing I’ve done with another person out in the open, not by a long shot, but still enough to make me wonder just when I decided this line was a safe one to cross.

_Because Alexander’s too much of a gentleman for this to go wrong. He won’t make me do anything I don’t want to._

_I trust him._

Alexander damn right isn’t the first person I’ve ever kissed, and it doesn’t feel like anything too spectacular. There’s that familiar hard press of lips less soft than mine, and it’s comfortable enough with our bodies together that I could get used to it. Maybe it’d be a bit more enjoyable if I hadn’t stunned the poor man so bad that he could reciprocate, but that’s easy enough to fix.

Not even pausing to take in a breath I flick my tongue against his parted lips, and I can feel the movement of him returning the gesture as he puts his hands on my shoulders—and pushes me back.

It’s not with a lot of force, but I’m off balance from having to get on my tiptoes to even kiss him, the tall son of a bitch, so it’s easy enough to get me to back off. Not that I was planning on continuing if he told me to stop. And since his expression is somewhat conflicted if not flushed basically the same color as his mech suit, I drop my arms to the side to show that I respect him asking me to back off.

“Kirsten,” he says, so many emotions mixed into the name that I can’t start to unweave them. “I’m flattered, okay, but before you do anything else there’s—there’s something I need you to understand.”

Okay, first couple of points go to the fact that he’s not _mad_ at me, per se, but plenty of alternative possibilities flash through my head. “Shit, I, like, assumed you were at least into girls, that was stupid of me.” Is that why Jan was so protective when we went out drinking that first time, because he’s gotten tired of girls that don’t stand a chance hitting on his friend? “Sorry, I should know better, I wasn’t—”

“No, no, that’s not it. I don’t care about gender; that’s not what this is about.” Oh, that’s one worry off my mind. Alexander licks his lips while his eyes search for the right words to say next. “If it’s you, Kirsten, I don’t care at all. But before—before anything else, I need you to know—” He cuts himself off again, then without any of his usual smoothness, he blurts out, “Do you know what graysexual is?”

Oh.

_Oh._

“Oh, thank fuck!” If we weren’t in the middle of a serious conversation, I would kiss him again I feel so relieved. As things are, though, my sudden shout makes him jump, and maybe I shouldn’t startle him so much. That doesn’t stop me from almost falling forward, my face smooshing against his chest. “That is the best goddamn thing I have ever heard in my life, Alexander, you have no idea.” My words come out muffled, but I can hear his rapid heartbeat almost echoing against his ribs. “Sorry,” I say again, standing up ike a semi-rational adult as I point a finger at myself. “I’m asexual. Like, not sex repulsed or anything, and I can enjoy it, but you won’t see me getting worked up anytime soon.”

“Ah, that’s…” Alexander coughs, glancing away. “That’s a better response than I usually get.”

Yeah, suddenly it makes a whole lot of sense why Jan was all cautious about me. How many people have tried to get close to Alexander—to Cunningham Hume—expecting something out of him that he wouldn’t be able to give in return? I sure now I’ve been on the burnt end of that equation before, though that’s mostly been my fault. Hell, kissing Alexander could have turned into a mess, too, but it didn’t immediately go to flames, so there’s that.

It takes us both a few moments to process that there’s no need to _explain­_—while we’re not the exact same, we’re close enough that we _get it_. And, honestly, that makes things so much easier. I’m trying to figure out the next best thing to say, but Alexander gets there first. “Well, since you’re not objecting to anything, I’m going to assume that kiss wasn’t a mistake?”

_Oh, you think you can try and embarrass me? Tough luck there, buddy._ “It might’ve been a mistake if you didn’t like it, but I think things worked out pretty well for me.” I clear my throat and put on a sly smile. “What was that you said? ‘If it’s you, Kirsten, I don’t care at all,’” I say, dropping my voice as I quote him. “I will apologize for kissing you without your consent, though. But it was nice and romantic of you to say that anyways.”

Alexander isn’t very good at hiding his blushes, but he manages to keep his voice steady. “Is that an option, then? Being romantic?” Okay, maybe I can’t tease him about blushing, since my face warms up a bit. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to, Kirsten. You’re someone I enjoy having as a friend far too much for that. So I need to know before I start doing things that could screw that up.”

I let out a small laugh, pushing my bangs away from my face. “You’re way too polite. I’m the one who’s done all the things to potentially screw this up.” Broke into his house, tried to pull myself out of his life without warning, fucking tried to make out with him without even thinking through if it would be okay. Still, he’s being honest and vulnerable with me, so I should at least return the favor. “But…yeah. I want to keep you in my life. And I don’t think I would mind romance being a part of that.”

How long has it been since I’ve felt safe heading into something like this? Come to think of it, I don’t think I ever considered safety before—I acted on impulse, hoping that the fling of a relationship would give me those splashes of color, but it never did for long. And after one too many people getting upset about my lack of sexuality, I stopped even trying.

_I know Alexander isn’t a perfect fairy tale or anything, but he’s the closest shot I have to something good. _

He’s also still looking faintly flustered. Maybe he’s like me and he’s avoided relationships for long enough that he doesn’t know how to handle the prospect of one. As an older sister with two younger brothers, I’ve mastered the art of being able to tell when people are thinking of something embarrassing—and forcing them to talk about it. “If you have something important you want to bring up, now’s probably the time to do it, Alexander.” I flash him a teasing grin. “I promise I won’t be offended by whatever you bring up.” Besides, it’s healthy to be out on the open about these things, just to save any potential miscommunication trouble from happening.

“Right.” Though his words sound confident, he still glances up and down the hallway, as if looking for an eavesdropper. “I just…want to make it clear that this obviously isn’t the only thing I care about, but…” He coughs, and I’m so glad I can see the red as it tints all the way up his ears. “If, in the off chance I happened to be in the mood, then—”

“If you want to have sex with me, I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” I say, mercilessly avoiding any tact. Wow, he looks cute when he’s about to choke on his own embarrassment. To make it worse, I step closer into his personal space, bringing our bodies close again, but not enough to touch. “Of course, if I say no, you better damn well respect that. Otherwise, though…” I lean back up, not for a kiss, but to put my lips next to his ear before I whisper:

“I wouldn’t mind in the slightest if you were less of a gentleman for once.”

Alexander lets out a defeated groan mixed with a laugh. “I think that might be arrangeable, considering that you aren’t exactly what I’d call a lady.”

I giggle. “Has it taken you this long to finally figure it out?”

“No, but I thought it would be rude to say it beforehand.” Satisfied with the reaction I’ve gotten, I go to step back, but Alexander reaches out to take hold of my wrist. “Though, since it sounds like I have your permission, maybe I’ll take you up on your offer.” There’s still a bit of leftover pink in his cheeks, but otherwise his expression is back to smooth and confident—for the two seconds I get to see it before he’s kissed me back.

It’s much easier to hold it whenever he’s leaned down a bit to reach me. It doesn’t take long before our tongues have twisted around each other, him with more input than before, no hesitation or conversations to get in our way. While I may not have a sex drive, I can’t deny the enjoyment that a good make-out session gives me, and there’s the extra thrill that comes from doing so in a semi-public place. Add that on top of the adrenaline rush from the mech ride, and I feel incredibly spoiled by life right now.

We end up being a bit late for dinner.

* * *

Considering all of Jan’s worrying, I’m impressed at how well he takes the news that Alexander and I are a thing (_dating,_ if you want to be technical about it). Maybe’s it’s because Alexander is the one that says it. Maybe it’s because Dew is such a good sport about it. Maybe it’s because I offer to buy him drinks next time we go out for beer. Maybe I was just paranoid. Who knows? No matter what the reason is, we have a tasty meal, and despite having met me a grand total of two times, it’s like I’m part of the group already.

I like it.

I like when I have people to laugh and smile with.

I like having someone I trust enough to drive me home.

_I like this._

_I like when the world is in color._

_I like feeling so damn alive it hurts._

I’m in such a good mood that I even forget to be upset with Mariya for her meddling. Who even cares? She may be a hacker, but part of that is also distributing information. It’s not like she’d give away any intel on me that’s serious. Her helping Alexander so he could surprise me with an actual mech ride was well worth it. And as I hum when I get home, I decide that I’ll be the magnanimous one and forgive her, just this once for being a little shit.

Plopping down on the couch and stretching out, I go to check my phone for anything I missed during the day. There’s the usual couple of pings from my brothers and random emails, and partway through tossing out spam, I realize that Mariya’s sent me an unprompted message with several attachments. It only takes a couple of seconds for me to realize what they are.

_I should probably tell the research team they’ve left some security holes in their system,_ I think, trying to decide whether I want to save these screenshots of my impromptu kiss with Alexander for my personal use or if doing say is just asking for Mariya to tease me. _Ah, before that, though._

I pull up Mariya in my contacts and press call. It doesn’t take long for her to answer. “What is it, my dear?”

“I’ve figured out the favor you owe me.”

“Oh, what can I do for you?”

“You’re not allowed to stalk me anymore.”

“You’re no fun!”


	26. 25 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_25 mph_

* * *

The electric razor hums as I scrutinize myself in the mirror. Thankfully, tending to my hair is simple enough that I don’t need to pay people to take care of it, plus the one shaved side of the head is extra quick to tend to. My bangs are gonna need a bit trimmed off the ends, too, but priorities. I only have so much time this morning before Alexander shows up, so there’s no sense in dithering. I’ve already pulled the long chunk tightly to the side, so it’s just a matter of remembering how to orient my body with my reflection and not shaving off a chunk of hair I actually want to keep.

With the most care I probably put into anything ever, I manage to trace the line of my last shave job without a hitch—arguably the trickiest part. With that done, I cleanly buzz around my ear, and it leaves that nice, fresh-shaved feeling afterwards, I savor it for a few moments before stowing away the hair clipper and fishing out the mini scissors from one of the drawers. A few more quick moments of scrutinization, and I snip off the excess bits, letting the hairs fall into my sink, dirty blonde against the white. The resulting look is a bit jagged, but I like it, and one lock I snipped a tiny bit too short curls up without the length to weigh it down.

_Not bad, not bad._ I’ll look presentable when I head home. I do a quick sweep up of my mess and go to prepare coffee with just enough time to spare before Alexander knocks at the door. When I let him in, he’s carrying a box from this bakery that sells unfairly good Danishes. I snatch it from him the moment I get the chance, and he looks askance at his empty hands. “I don’t even get a ‘good morning’ first?”

I blink at him. “Why would I ever do something that conventional?”

Alexander taps my forehead as he passes me. “Because I can tell that you secretly like doing normal boring stuff with me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I never do anything boring.” As in, _ordinary stuff doesn’t feel boring when it’s with you._ I catch sight of Alexander’s smile as he turns into the kitchen, so even if I wasn’t _aiming_ for him to catch my meaning, he still managed to do so. Instead of eating at the counter like a civilized human being, I decide that, for today, pastries are best enjoyed while sitting on the couch. “But since we don’t have any pilot testing to do today, is that your way of telling me you picked something potentially boring to do? Should I brace myself?”

“Maybe.” Alexander’s voice sounds louder than it does from the kitchen, and a moment later he comes toting our respective coffee cups in tow. Since my hands and mouth are already occupied by cream cheese goodness, he sets my mug down on the table before he sits in the spot beside me. “I figured we could go hang out on the track a bit, try not to cause a riot if we go out in public…”

“I’ve heard worse ideas—from you and otherwise.” He mock scowls into his coffee, and I snicker. “But I won’t say no to a trip to the track. It was amazing before, but it’ll probably look way different know that I’ve been into a mech.” I take a moment to enjoy the fresh feeling of the shaved half of my head, almost sighing in content from the memories of racing. I may not ever become a pro, but being the testing guinea pig is satisfying in its own way. “Though I do have a proposal for something a bit later on the agenda this week.”

Mouth full of pastry, Alexander finishes chewing and swallowing before answering. “So long as it’s not anything boring,” he says with a straight face.

I roll my eyes. “You have the right to refuse if it’s not something you’re interested in or if you can’t make time for it.” He raises an eyebrow, questions obviously dancing in his head. If I were any other person, I’d probably be fidgeting from nervous energy, but what I’m about to say isn’t worth that. “Since we’re kind of an item now, I was wandering if you wanted to accompany me when I go home for Nate’s birthday.”

Of course, it’s _after_ I’ve said it that the embarrassment kicks in, but I don’t look away. One, because I refuse to do that kind of shit when I’m a goddamn adult, and two, because watching Alexander blink as he processes what I just asked is funny. “Is this some sort of trap or something? I thought people usually waited longer before they introduce their dates to their parents.”

“You should feel honored. You’re the first date I’ve ever _wanted_ to introduce to my dad.” For my high school flings, it was never anything serious enough to even call dating, and everyone else after I left home—well, our views didn’t match up enough to get to that point. While I’m playing the compare and contrast game, Alexander’s busy trying to stop hid coffee from going down the wrong pipe. I whack his shoulder. “Calm down. I figured Nate would want to meet you, as an add-on to his birthday gift or whatever. But, seriously, if you don’t want to come, that’s fine.”

“I’ve never had someone say they wanted to date me to make their little brother jealous before. You really are refreshing to have around, Kirsten.” Shoving a whole Danish into my mouth, I make the best possible attempt at a bow I can manage while staying seated on a couch. Alexander runs a hand through his hair. “But, sure, I wouldn’t mind. I’d have to see if I can take the training days off, but I’m pretty sure I can make it happen.”

“Again, don’t worry if you can’t. I know this is super at the last minute.”

“Kirsten, I wouldn’t be agreeing if I didn’t want to. Besides, we _do_ have some vacation allowances during the off season, but I just…tend not to use them.”

I nod in understanding. “Because you’re a workaholic. Should I start preparing for when you can’t even take me out on dates since you’ll be stuck practicing?”

“No, will you not.” Alexander catches my hand, and I’m still getting used to the sensation of how my fingers twine into his. “I’ll take you out on a date whenever you like. You won’t have to worry about that.” Ah, _there’s_ the embarrassment. I was only joking, but he’s taking it so seriously. He leans a bit closer, our foreheads tapping into each other. “So let’s finish up here, and then we’ll go on the first one, okay?”

* * *

Since the plan is to eat lunch out together, our track excursion doesn’t involve packing along a picnic this time. I mean, even if we were going to do that, it would take a ton of time since neither of us did the necessary prep work in advance. Then again, a change up from before is super okay with me, and it’s nice that even our ordinary dates can have something as eccentric as standing on an IGPX track as part of our outings.

I’m still trying to wrap my head around the idea of _dating_ again, if I’m being honest—it’s been a hot minute since I last had a relationship, and Alexander and I are still feeling out the bits and pieces involved. Neither of us is particularly heavy touch oriented (my impulse-fueled make out session aside), but we do occasionally slip our hands together, just because we can. It’s a nice relief to know that I can hold onto someone without having any expectations down the line.

It’s partway because the track is empty for the day that we even have our hands linked together now. As we climb the steps towards the main entrance, Alexander lets me go first. I give his fingers a quick squeeze before looking back over my shoulder. “Race you to the top?”

I don’t even wait for the answer, because that’s giving him too much of an opportunity to win. Instead, I bolt for it, the echoing sounds of my footsteps soon joined my Alexanders as he clamors after me. I take the steps two or three at a time, managing to slam my hand down on the doorknob—but not able to turn it as Alexander’s arm catches against my waist, effectively lifting me off the ground. What’s frustrating is that he can keep me steady and still have a free hand to open the door for himself.

“Unfair!”

“You so don’t have the right to say that after your false start.”

“I will beat you in another race one of these days, I swear to god.”

“You keep telling yourself that, Kirsten.” Alexander keeps walking forward, his stride even while still supporting my weight. Realizing he’s not going to put me down anytime soon, I work on twisting myself around to try and struggle as best I can—and then I realize that I can just trip him, since my legs are hanging free. “Shit—” Alexander works on reclaiming his balance as I land on my own feet, laughing all the way. “You think you can escape that easy?”

I stick out my tongue while running backwards as he follows after me. “Pretty sure I just did!”

“Wanna bet?” His grin is infectious, and I never expected that he could be so playful. It’s easy to get caught up in trying to dodge out of his way, especially since he’s pretty speedy, even without a mech to boost him along. Despite my best efforts of darting across the track, he ultimately catches up with me, this time both his arms catching around my waist before he lifts me up to spin around in a circle, our laughter echoing up all across the empty sky.

And awkwardly cutting off once we realize we’re not alone.

Not too far away from where Alexander and I had our little picnic is a group of people—two of whom I’ve met before. The familiar form of Takeshi Jin reacts first, with Liz Ricarro’s shout following after. Unsurprisingly, the redhead with them is Satomi’s midfielder, Amy Stapleton—easily identifiable because she’s holding her copilot Calico, Luca. It takes me a second longer to recognize the blonde kid with a fringe: River Marque, former Satomi backup pilot who swapped to Sledge Mama a couple seasons ago. I can never keep his position straight.

Not that I should be worrying about that since they’re all staring at me and Alexander. Takeshi and Liz seem to be competing in the categories of who can shout loudest and who can run faster, while Amy’s raised a hand to her mouth in surprise. As far as I can tell from this distance, River looks like he’s squinting, like he doesn’t believe he’s seeing Cunningham Hume having fun with some woman. And while a couple different options spring to mind, only one of them seems viable.

_Do I want to know how much I can embarrass the hell out of Alexander? Don’t mind if I do._

Alexander works on setting me back on solid ground, but I snatch his hand before he can even think about shoving it in his pocket. He looks at me, and I just grin back. “You weren’t about to try and pretend we’re not a thing were you, Alexander?” I ask, holding my free hand to my chest in a dramatic gesture. “I’m hurt. You’ll tell Jan and Dew but not your other friends?”

It’s satisfying watching Alexander choke on trying to get words out of his mouth. “Come on, that’s not at it at all—”

But he doesn’t get much of a chance to continue to counterargue, because it only takes so long for a group of teen athletes to cross even the length of the IG track, and Team Satomi is upon us.


	27. 26 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_26 mph_

* * *

“Yo, Cunningham,” Liz says, breaking the silence first. I squeeze Alexander’s hand, halfway daring him to try and worm his way out of my grip. I’d think it’s more funny than offensive if I did, but he manages to keep his cool pretty well with three wide-eyed teenagers staring us down—always able to operate under pressure, I suppose. “Funny seeing you here.”

Alexander shrugs. “Not much of a surprise for me to run into Takeshi up here. Didn’t expect the rest of you to be hanging around, though.” _Yeah, and you didn’t expect to see anyone up here at all, really,_ I can’t help but think, holding back my snark. Alexander gives that smug little smirk of his to Takeshi. “If you start bringing everyone up here, we won’t be able to get any privacy.”

“Yeah, you’re one to talk,” Takeshi says, unable to decide if he wants to look more at my face or where I’m holding onto Alexander’s hand. “At least I only brought IG pilots around. Sure, we’ve seen you hanging around with your pal before, but I didn’t get the memo that Velshtein was getting a new member.”

Luca meows, and Amy looks even more stunned than before. “Takeshi, you’ve met her before? Oh, sorry, that’s rude. I’m Amy Stapleton, and this is Luca.” She hefts up the cat in her arms, causing him to squirm. “It’s nice to meet you.”

What do you know, a child prodigy with some manners. Mariya could stand to learn a thing or two about tact from this girl. I dismiss her concerns with a wave of my hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’m Kirsten Ashburn. Nice to meet you and all that.” I catch Alexander glancing at me, as if he’s concerned that I’m behaving. “And don’t worry, Takeshi, you aren’t _that_ out of the loop. I don’t see myself being in a professional race anytime soon.” Funnily enough, just messing around in the simulators and getting to test copilot things with Alexander is enough for me. “You could just say I’m Alexander’s plus one.”

“Ha, I knew it!” Liz says, pumping a triumphant fist. She turns to Takeshi, slapping his back. “I _told_ you they were dating. You owe me lunch.”

He groans. “Yeah, yeah, I know…”

“Well, to be technical, we _weren’t_ dating then,” Alexander says. I can’t decide whether I feel glad or disappointed that Alexander only reserves his flustered side for me. “So I don’t know if I’d call that a win or not.”

Liz pauses in the middle of her victory celebration, and it’s Takeshi’s turn to laugh. “So that means I win, and _you_ owe _me_ lunch.”

“It does not! They’re a thing now, so you were wrong ‘cause you said there wasn’t anything going on.”

“Oh, that’s bullcrap and you know it.”

“A tie?” Amy says, trying to quell her teammates’ rising voices.

“How about it means you both lose?” River asks, at last making his way over to us. From his haircut to the way he walks, I can’t tell if he’s trying to be emo or if that’s just his natural disposition. Well, whatever floats his boat. “Though if you’re so eager to burn money, you can cover my lunch while we’re at it.”

“Like hell!”

“Are you out of your mind?!”

Their onslaught fires off with such smoothness that I can’t help but laugh. They may be a bunch of professional racers, but they’re also a batch of kids at heart. I’m glad they can still joke around with each other, even though there was probably some tension with the whole team swapping nonsense the other season. _Good for them._

Seemingly thinking the same while the strong willed trio continues to bicker, Amy giggles while Luca yawns. “You guys…”

Though it takes a little bit of time, the good-natured ribbing ultimately dies down, with everyone settling into a casual talk about the off season. No one says any specifics about the strategies they have—gotta keep those trade secrets in competition, I suppose—but they all seem to be working hard, and I can tell that they’re all happy to be in the sport. Just being around their enthusiasm is enough to make me feel content.

_Funny. I’m not even jealous._ Absentmindedly playing with Alexander’s fingers, I let the chatter wash over me. _I’m glad I got to be part of this._

Alexander mistakes my hand squeezing onto his as a sign that I’m getting antsy. “You doing okay over there, Kirsten? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you stay quiet for so long. Don’t tell me you’re feeling sick.”

I jam my elbow into his side to show him just how healthy I’m feeling. “I’m constantly impressed at how you say incredibly rude things while also insisting on being a gentleman at others,” I say, voice in my perfected deadpan. Alexander rubs his ribs, and I stick out my tongue. “Can’t you appreciate that I’m letting you talk with your friends even though we’re going on a date?”

“Oh no, are we interrupting you?” Amy asks, the only one of her teammates that looks mildly apologetic. Takeshi and Liz look like they want to prod at Alexander some more (a sentiment I can get behind), while River doesn’t seem to care one way or another. “We don’t mean to take up your time. I’m sure you two are busy.”

If I were a better person, I’d take the high road. But I’m a trouble-making little shit, so I give Liz and Takeshi a quick grin before I latch onto Alexander’s arm. “No need to worry, Amy. I’m gonna have A-lex-an-der all to myself pretty soon, so I can stand to share him for a little bit.”

Amy and Takeshi have managed to form twin blushes, Liz mouths _“Alexander?”_, and even River has raised an eyebrow. Alexander takes advantage of my close quarters, to snatch on my shoulders and steer me towards the exit. “O_kay_, leaving now—”

“Coward!” I say at the same time that Takeshi calls, “You’re just running away?”

“I’m not running away; I’m going on a date,” Alexander says, looking back over his shoulder and directing me back towards the door all the while. “Don’t you worry, Takeshi. We’ll see each other on the track soon enough.”

“Takeshi’s not the only one you’ll face on the track,” River says, Liz adding her approval. Even Luca lets out a yowl. “Just you wait.”

I do my best to toss the group a wave (a bit of a tricky feat since Alexander’s on the lookout for me tripping him again). “Nice to see you guys!” I say before I have to adjust so I don’t trip down the stairs. Alexander closes the door so fast that it almost slams shut, and he lets out a heavy sigh. “You doing okay there, buddy?”

He holds onto the doorknob like he’s afraid that Takeshi and co. are gonna burst through any moment to pester him some more. “Sorry,” he says through a grimace. “Unexpected company wasn’t part of my date plan.”

“Well, it’s not like it’s the worst thing that could have happened.” I start to make my way down the stairs, hopping over the steps when I feel confident in my balance. “I’m sure Jan and Dew would have been happy to tease you again. Oh! Or we could’ve run into Hamgra and you would’ve had to explain yourself to him.”

Alexander lets out a strained groan at the idea of it, but his footsteps still follow after mine anyways. “Sir Hamgra doesn’t care what any of us do with our personal lives so long as it doesn’t get in the way of racing or reflect badly on the team.”

I have to wonder if that’s the case because Velshtein is so busy that indulging in a relationship would be damn near impossible during the IG-1 seas or because Hamgra knows Alexander is so serious that he wouldn’t risk his racing career through doing something stupid. Maybe a bit of both. “Does that mean you happen to think I’m safe enough not to cause any trouble for you?” Having it the bottom of the staircase, I spin around so I can look at Alexander while walking backwards. “I’m not so sure that I would take that bet.”

“I would. In fact, I’m taking that bet right now.” I lose track of the shit eating grin I wanted to give him as Alexander gives me that easy smile, the one that makes his eyes shine in their full green glory. “Sure, you’re a troublemaker, but you wouldn’t intentionally cause a serious problem for me. And even if something happened, I’d still stick around with you anyways.”

Dammit, I had to get myself involved with a smooth talker; I couldn’t stop myself from blushing even if I tried. “Hey, you said it, so I’m gonna hold you to it. Don’t come crying to me just because you didn’t know better.” Alexander rolls his eyes, not taking my threats seriously—not that he’s supposed to, anyways. “You wouldn’t happen to be trying to butter me up because you’re embarrassed to show me off to your rivals, now are you?”

“I’m not embarrassed.” He says to so quickly that I have to level him with a deadpan stare. He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m happy to have you as a partner, Kirsten. Please don’t doubt that. I’m just…not really used to having a partner to introduce to other people, either. Plus it’s kind of weird, since we’re more rivals than coworkers, so I don’t know the best way to handle things.”

Damn, instead of flustered, he sounds worried that I’m upset with his reaction. I step closer to him, making sure to hold onto eye contact. “I appreciate you saying that, but I’m not mad at you.” The relief is obvious in his expression. “I get it; this is weird and new for both of us. And I’m even sure where I’m gonna start when it comes to introducing you to my dad.” I mean, sure, I’m an adult, and Dad isn’t _super_ protective or anything, but it’s still going to be weird. “But we can figure this mess out together, okay? You don’t have to handle this one all on your own, mister superstar. Put that teamwork of yours to good use.”

“Right. I think we can manage that much together.”

“I won’t say no to you doing something nice to stay in my good graces anyways, though.”

Alexander’s chuckle is enough to put me at ease. “Of course you wouldn’t.” Side by side, we continue our trek back towards the parking garage. “Fortunately for you, I had a plan for where we were going after this, so I’m more than willing to accommodate.”

I clasp my hands behind my back. “I’ll leave you to it.”

* * *

The funny thing about arcades is that I spent a lot of time in them as a kid. Nate was obsessed with the beat up IGPX racing simulator there, plus trying to win prizes has its own gambling rush as a bonus. Despite that experience, I haven’t touched one since I got into high school, namely because much more _exciting_ things happened to catch my attention. Lucky for me, though, even if it’s been over a decade, the games haven’t changed much, and so I’m still halfway decent at most of them.

Alexander, for all his talent, doesn’t have as much luck.

I continue to shoot my toy gun at the screen, taking down the robotic enemies with decent enough precision until the timer buzzes and signals the end of the stage. Beside me and wielding a similar weapon, Alexander clicks his tongue. His score’s gotten close to mine, but it’s not enough to come out on top. “Damn. So close.”

“But not close enough,” I say, lowering my shooting arm. “You were improving pretty good there, though. Just a bit more and you’d be a real pain in the ass to beat.” All that hand-eye coordination from handling a mech serves him well, and I can only imagine the results with a bit of practice. Alexander glances at me, and I give him an encouraging smile. “Wanna try another round?”

“Maybe in a bit. I need a restroom break.” He places down his gun, and I do the same, letting the game time out on its own. Alexander gives me that challenging smirk. “Just you wait. I’ll be winning soon enough.”

“Looking forward to it.” I wave him off to go to the bathroom and step out of the way in case someone else wants to take a crack at the game. The sounds of music and consoles take over the air, with the occasional shout of excitement. Finding the nearest game I can lean against, I settle in and pull out my phone, planning to kill some time with whatever notifications have popped up while I’ve kept the thing on silent.

I’m not disappointed, seeing as there’s a whole swarm of them. Missed calls. Texts and pings from a few messaging apps. Mariya’s attempts to reach out to me intermingled with the occasional spam email, with so many of them I can’t even put the jumbled pieces together.

Until I do.

Until I realize.

_Oh god, no._

[KIRSTEN FUCK ANSWER ME]  
[YOU NEED TO CALL HOME]


	28. 27 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_27 mph_

* * *

Not many things can make me feel like I’m about to throw up. I’ve enjoyed the rush of the fastest roller coasters with their twists and turns, I’ve gladly leapt out of planes with only a parachute on my back, I’ve sat in the copilot’s chair as Alexander performs a full-blown arsenal of tricks and combat maneuvers with an IGPX mech, the world spinning around me. Hell, even when I get _sick_, vomiting usually isn’t very high up on my list of common symptoms and grievances.

But here I am, sitting on a plane to New York, and my stomach hasn’t stopped churning once, the taste of bile hasn’t left my mouth, no matter how many expensive snacks and fancy drinks I let myself get my hands on.

Because I need to go home earlier than I planned.

Because there’s an emergency.

Because Dad had another heart attack and he’s in the hospital—

The tears of stress and anxiety and misplaced grief spring to my eyes, and I press my palms against them, leaning my head back, like that will make the sting go away, like it’ll solve the problem. Like it’ll stop me from crying, like it’ll keep me from throwing up. Like it’ll somehow help Dad get better, the trigger to whatever miracle cure will keep him safe. This isn’t his first time in the hospital for this problem, he has a weak heart already, and all it would take is one more moment for his body to slip up enough and—

Five hours on a plane, unable to do anything.

Five hours, fucking sitting around doing nothing, jumping at my phone connected to the internet for someone to update me.

Five absolutely _unbearable_ hours, not even counting the time wasted checking in at the airport, the time it’ll take to leave the plane and the airport and get to where I should be, at Dad’s side, making sure he’s okay, _five fucking hours._

_We can make robots that race over two-hundred miles per hour for sport and we can’t make air travel go any fucking faster?!_ My ineffective palms turn into fists over my eyes, applying more useless pressure that only provides half a distraction from the mess I’m dealing with. _Oh, god, what if we lose him, too, what if he—_

“Kirsten.” I let out a shaking breath, lowering my hands to look at Alexander sitting across from me. His colors are kinda hazy: partway there, partway grayscale, like some pretentious photo filter. I’m impressed the color hasn’t just _vanished_ from everything, but I can’t even appreciate what little I can still see, my thoughts miles away and almost detached from my body. “What can I do for you? Do you want me to talk? Listen?” I almost want to laugh; he’s already dropped everything to come along with me, he fucking booked the plane tickets for me, and he feels like he needs to do more? “I can understand if you want me to be quiet, but I don’t want you beating yourself up over there.”

“Who says I’m beating myself up?”

Though my tone is half sarcastic, Alexander’s voice says quiet and comforting. “Just a guess.” He reaches out his hands for mine, his thumbs tracing gentle circles across my skin. “This is something stressful. And I’m not going to tell you that you should be okay or that you shouldn’t worry. But I can tell you that it’s not your fault that this happened, and you shouldn’t feel guilty about not being able to immediately be there just because you live somewhere else. You’re going, and you will be there, and that’s what matters.”

I let out another sigh that sounds way waterier than the last one. What a time for him to hold onto my hands; I can’t even brush away the tears that are starting to fall. I don’t pull away, though. “Nate and Caleb are gonna be alone, though. They’re still young. They don’t need to shoulder things on their own.” I shut my eyes and press my head back against the seat, in the perfect position to just _scream_ if I weren’t restraining myself. “We already lost Mom, Alexander. I don’t them to go through that again.”

I don’t want their worlds to turn gray, too.

“They won’t be alone, because they’re with each other. And you’re going to be there as soon as possible.” Alexander doesn’t try to do anything like remind me that Nate and Caleb are both young adults, no longer small children who can’t at least keep themselves together. _But I’m the oldest, and I’ll take on as much of that burden as I can._ As if sensing that I’m about to get lost back in my own thoughts, Alexander tightly squeezes my fingers. “You don’t have to shoulder the whole responsibility, Kirsten. I’m going to be here with you, and we’ll work things out.”

I shake my head. “You don’t need to get involved with this—”

“Too late. It concerns you and your family, so it concerns me, too.” We’ve been dating for less than a week and he can already go ahead and say things like that with conviction. He’s far too good for me. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t manage things or that you shouldn’t support your brothers. But if things get too bad, I’ll be here to support _you_. It’s not like you haven’t already been making me pay for stuff already; this is just the next step up.” I open my eyes in time to see him grimace. “Sorry, do you not want me to make jokes? That one just sort of slipped out, but I get that this is serious.”

“Mm. I don’t mind for now.” There might be a point where it won’t be something I want to hear, but for now, I’d rather joke than deal with silence, than deal with the mess inside my head. Naturally, the one time I could do _without_ a store of energy so I could sleep these five fucking hours away, anxiety has me too keyed up to even think about relaxing. “I’d rather hear you talk. Doesn’t matter what it is.”

“Alright, I can do that. Any requests?”

“Nothing boring.”

Alexander gives me a small smile. “I can handle that much.”

* * *

Our trip out of the airport and to the hospital goes flawlessly, thanks once again to Alexander’s efforts. While I was making panicked phone calls and grilling Mariya for details, he was taking care of the plane tickets, the post-landing travel arrangements, and even paying attention to when I need to eat, since my mind can’t even begin to comprehend stuff like that.

Still holding onto my hand, Alexander doesn’t stop me from powerwalking into the hospital—though it’s because of him that I haven’t just sprinted in. Since I already know the room number, we can take the elevator straight to the right floor. Alexander handles our luggage and doesn’t protest when I release his hand to rush towards Caleb, who’s waiting outside the door for me.

“Kir!”

I sweep him up in a hug the second I’m able. Out of the three of us, Caleb looks like most like Mom, with his freckles and orange-red hair—the latter of which I bury my face in and drop a kiss on. Caleb trembles in my grip, and I don’t blame him. He was there when it happened. He was the one who called the ambulance.

“I’m so, so proud of you, Caleb,” I say keeping my voice soft. Wetness from his panicked tears starts to soak into my shirt, but I don’t dare let him go. “You did amazing, little bro. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything now. Dad’ll be alright.”

Caleb sniffs while I rub against the back of his t-shirt. “I thought he was gonna—”

“I know. It’s awful.” I was there the first time Dad’s heart went out, barely any older than Caleb is now. “But you acted fast and you got help, so he’s safe. That happened because you were there.” I want to say, _Don’t worry about it_, but that seems unfair. You can’t help but worry about it, because the possibilities haunt you, especially when you’ve already lost once. Caleb nods, and I give him one more squeeze before letting him pull back to wipe at his face. The bags are dark shadows beneath his eyes. “Where’s Nate?”

“He had class. Dad made him go.”

I raise an eyebrow, my older sister instincts kicking in. “And you’re not at school because?”

“I got permission. I’ve been doing my work in the hospital room.” He glances to the shut door where our dad is resting. “I didn’t want to leave him alone. The doctors have him under watch. I don’t want to go away and then have something happen…”

I hum in understanding. Nate probably feels the same way, but he’s always dealt with issues best whenever he has normal life to back him up. “As long as you’re being responsible about it, take all the time you need.” Alexander at least catches up with me, and curiosity slips over Caleb’s expression at the newcomer. Right, I should probably introduce him, considering. “The old man awake right now?”

Caleb blinks, but it doesn’t erase his intrigue. “Yeah, but who’s this?”

“It’ll be easier if I don’t have to answer the same questions more than once. I’ll introduce you inside.” I knock on the door a few times to signal my entrance before opening it. Dad looks up at once thanks to his finely honed reflexes, and at first glance he looks okay. Sure, his dirty blonde hair is a bit mussed from being stuck in a bed and stubble has formed on his chin, but he otherwise looks okay. If it weren’t for the beep of the heart monitor and his hospital gown, I wouldn’t have guessed he wasn’t in top shape.

Too bad for him I know better.

“Kirsten,” he says, voice as gravely as ever. “I’m glad to see you, but you didn’t need to rush out here, seeing as you were already coming. I’m doing just fine, and I’ll be out of here in no time.”

“Tough words for someone who probably can’t get away from bed without permission first,” I say, flopping down into the closest visitor’s chair. Caleb skitters around to the other end of the bed, where he’s taken over Dad’s table tray with art supplies. If Caleb _wasn’t_ around, I’d dig into Dad for acting like things aren’t a big deal, but I don’t want to stress the kiddo out any more than necessary. “Either way, I’m here now, and I’m glad to see you doing alright. Just think of it as you get some bonus time with me now.”

“You and your company, I take it.” Dad looks at Alexander, who’s come to stand behind me. I don’t even have it in me see if Alexander’s embarrassed by the scrutiny. Admittedly, even I saw this introduction happening in way less inconvenient circumstances. Dad puts on his stern expression, the one he reserves for work occasions. “What do ya say, stranger? You have a name?”

I may just be imagining things, but I think I hear Alexander swallow. “C—Alexander, sir.”

“Alexander, eh?” Like he’s making up for missed chances in the past, Dad stares him down for what feels like it’s stretching on for hours—until his face breaks out in a grin. “Sorry you got stuck with my troublemaker of a daughter. I tried my best with that one, but there was only so much I could do.”

Alexander chuckles, sounding like he’s unsure if it’s okay to laugh at the joke. “I find that a little trouble isn’t so bad every now and then, sir.”

Dad laughs out loud, and I can feel the heat as it crawls up my neck. Caleb notices right away. “No fair!” he says, pointing an accusing finger at me, “You didn’t tell me you were dating anyone. I thought you were just messing with Nate when he said you were hanging out with someone!”

_Are you trying to say that I would only hang out with someone for a joke?_ Before I can begin to voice my objections, there’s a heavy thump from behind me, and we collectively look to the doorway to see Nate, his backpack abandoned on the ground and his mouth hanging open, making it near impossible for him to push out words. “Y-you—_You’re—_”

“Nathan,” Dad says, still grinning. “Come on in. Kirsten was just introducing us to Alexander here.”

“_Alexander?_” Nate asks, his voice rising not one, but two octaves.

“Yes, Alexander. More commonly known as Cunningham Hume,” I say, standing up and putting a hand on aforementioned man’s shoulder. Caleb has reacted quickly, his phone out and recording video without me even needing to say anything. “Happy birthday, baby bro.”


	29. 28 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_28 mph_

* * *

It takes us a while to get all the introductions and explanations out of the way, but even then Nate still looks like his mind is about to explode. I gave him full reign of the chair, and he has his head in hands like that’s going to cover up the red seeping into the tips of his ears, sticking out brilliantly against his sandy blonde hair. Too bad Dad made Caleb put his phone away.

“Let me get this straight,” Nate says, his voice somewhat muffled. “You brought me Cunningham Hume for my birthday.”

“Well, considering who all we have in this room, nothing was ever going to be straight,” I say, and Caleb snorts. Nate would laugh if he wasn’t too busy having an existential crisis. “But, yes, I did really bring you Alexander as part of your birthday gift. You can’t keep him, though. I’m kind of dating him.”

“Holy shit. I’m dreaming, right? Or I’m getting punk’d?” He looks to Dad and Caleb for some sign, but they both just shrug. “This is not what I was expecting out of today. What is my life right now?” I can tell he’s bursting with questions, but I just get that look that says he’s planning on grilling me once his brain has a moment to process things. For now, though, he lets out a deep breath and sits upright. “Okay, okay. I’ll freak out later. How about you, Dad? How are you doing?”

Dad shakes his head. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be out of here in no time.”

Nate and I press our lips together at the same time, which means we’re both probably thinking along the lines of _It’s kind of hard not to worry about you when you’ve ended up in the hospital again,_ but neither of us voices the thought. “The nurse I asked said that Dad should be able to get out by the weekend,” Caleb says, offering something way more concrete than vague assurances.

I debate pressing him for more details but decide I’d be better off getting answers from the source when I get the chance. For now, it’s my job to make sure everyone is feeling okay. I make myself smile and clap my hands together. “Good. Then we should be able to at least have the party like we were planning.” Lucky for us that Nate just wanted a small family affair. Alexander glances at me, like he can tell that I’m putting on an act, but he doesn’t call me out. “Now. Nate, Caleb. When’s the last time either of you ate?”

“Ah, well…”

“I came here after class, ‘cause—”

“Yeah, nope, didn’t ask for excuses.” Dad at least has the hospital staff looking out for him; Caleb and Nate are just as stubborn as I am, and they’ll easily forget a bout their own health while fussing over Dad. As expected, both my brothers try to avoid looking me in the eyes. “I know that we’re all concerned, but you two need to eat. Older sister’s orders.”

“I’ll add my order to that, too,” Dad says, and Nate and Caleb groan in stereo. “I can’t do too much while I’m here, so I’ll just take a nap. Stop fussing and go eat.”

“I’m pretty sure I saw that there were some places to eat not too far from here. We can stay close by,” Alexander says.

While Nate may be willing to argue with me or Dad, he hesitates at the idea of bickering with Cunningham Hume, and that’s enough to put the nail in that coffin. He grumbles out, “Yeah, yeah,” and Caleb, recognizing that he’s outnumbered, agrees, too.

“That’s that then,” Dad says, clapping his hands together. I’m a bit apprehensive about heading out after arriving so soon, but at least in the hospital Dad has people looking out for him. My darling little brothers aren’t anywhere near as well taken care of, though I can tell they’ve been trying. “You all go out and eat a nice meal and don’t worry about me. I promise I’ll be here when you kids come back.”

“You heard him,” I say, tugging Nate up from his seat since he’s closest to me. Caleb gets the message and starts packing up his art supplies, every stray pencil and eraser gathered up in seconds. “I haven’t had the opportunity to spoil you two in a while. So make sure to eat your fill, okay? You guys can even pick the venue.”

It takes a second for it to click that my wallet is available, and Caleb and Nate take a few moments to confer before figuring out where to go.

* * *

“Huh? You’re gonna make us go home? That’s not fair!”

Not even several hamburgers, a shared pile of fries, and his favorite cookies and cream milkshake aren’t enough to stop Caleb from protesting from his seat across from me. Nate sits beside him in the fast food booth, looking just as frustrated. Alexander gives me a side glance of concern, but it’s pretty obvious he has no idea what younger siblings are capable of. They haven’t even gotten close to throwing a tantrum.

“Look, I’m not making you go home forever,” I say, running a couple of fries through some ketchup. “But I’m pretty sure you’ve both been spending all your time at the hospital. I get that, but it’s not good for you. I at least want you two to go home, wash up, and spend a little bit of time without worrying. Do your homework, watch dumb cat videos for all I care. Just please take a breather, and you can come back in the evening.”

Caleb grimaces, his hands clenching into fists. “But—”

“Don’t bother, C,” Nate says, looking resigned. “You know that once Kirsten starts making sense, then we’re in trouble.” He shakes his head, looking the most depressed I’ve ever seen him with chicken strips in hand. Nate takes a frustrated drink from his soda and leans back in his seat. “I’ll agree, but only because I know it’s for the better.” I don’t miss his eyes flicker over to Alexander. _You can admit that you want to be on front of your best behavior in front of a celebrity, baby bro. I promise it’s okay._ Nate pats Caleb’s shoulder, urging him to sit back down. “You don’t gotta worry. A few hours will fly by, and then we can go and make sure Kir _and_ Dad are doing alright.”

Caleb bites his lip and groans. “I hate it when you two actually agree on something reasonable.”

If I didn’t have salt all over my fingers, I’d reach out to ruffle his hair. Since I do, though, I settle for flashing him a smile. “That’s what you get for being born the youngest. But you get to make up for it by being the most adorable.” Caleb mutters something into his straw as his cheeks flush red. “But I really do want you two to take care of yourselves, even if that’s a little hypocritical of me. But I promise I’ll handle all the serious stuff, so you two don’t need to worry.”

Nate raises en eyebrow. “You do understand that that means we’re just going to end up worrying about _your_ wellbeing on top of Dad’s, right?”

“And that’s what I’m here,” Alexander says, interjecting himself into the conversation without it sounding out of place in the slightest. I like how it feels like he belongs here. Alexander slips his fingers around mine underneath the table. “Trust me, I know how this one can get. I’ll be sure that she doesn’t go overboard, so take it easy.”

Still looking somewhat embarrassed over the fact that _Cunningham Hume_ is at the table with us, Nate lowers his head. “I’m so sorry that you have to put up with our sister’s nonsense.” Mouth stuffed with fries, Caleb nods his agreeance, and Alexander chuckles.

“Wow, you two are so asking for it,” I say, unable to sound stern anymore. We may be stressed together, but we’re family, and we can keep each other steady through little gestures. “I want you guys to spend at least two hours at home, you hear me? I’ll pay for transport to get you guys back, so don’t fuss over that. We can all hang out with Dad in the evening, and I’ll even come home and get some sleep with you. Deal?”

“_Deal,_” my brothers say in well practiced unison.

“Excellent.” I lean back in my seat, surveying our table one more time, willing the immediate crisis to slip out of mind for just a bit longer. “Now who thinks they can beat me at building the tallest sauce cup tower?”

Caleb and Nate rise wonderfully to the occasion, but I’m not surprised in the slightest that Alexander beats us all.

* * *

“They’re good kids,” Alexander says after we’ve finished tidying up our mess in the restaurant and my brothers are tucked away in the cab home nice and safe. If it weren’t for the fact that I gave the driver explicit instructions (and a hefty tip) not to take them anywhere else, I’d be worried that they’d try to sneak their way back to the hospital.

“Yeah,” I say, picturing their smiles and laughs in my mind. I want to keep them like that. All we need to do is get Dad taken care of and home safe, and then I won’t have to worry about the gray swallowing them whole. Not yet.

“You’re doing good, too,” Alexander adds, squeezing my hand again. “Taking care of things for them. But I’m still gonna be here to make sure you don’t go overboard, you get me?”

I let out a quiet snort, watching as cars drive by and pedestrians make their way up and down the streets, across crosswalks. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt so stunned at how the world moves on, even when everything in my own life feels like it’s teetering on the edge. “Relax. I know you weren’t just fronting in front of Nate and C. If I’m being honest, I’m…kind of counting on you to make sure I take care of myself.”

Alexander gives me that softer smile, without any traces of his usual smirk. “Reporting for duty, ma’am.”

“I think you’re forgetting that I’m not a proper lady by any means.” I give his hand another squeeze before slipping my fingers away from his. “Though if you don’t mind, I do want to have a little talk with Dad on my own, so I’m gonna have to ask you to give me a little space for a bit.”

After dealing with Nate and Caleb’s stubbornness, it’s a welcome change to see Alexander so readily agreeing to my terms with a nod. “No need to worry. I’ll be sure to keep things clear for you.”

“Much appreciated.” We fall into silence as we walk back to the hospital, with the faintest bit of nerves starting to work their way into my brain again. Why is it the ordinary things that worry me so much, even when I know they aren’t as dangerous as the stunts I’ve pulled. Probably because they don’t just affect me, but others as well, the intertwining bonds of relationships feeling so fragile, even when they’re formed by blood.

_This time for sure. I have to convince Dad before this happens again._

Once we’re off the streets, the world feels less hectic. Between the patients and the visitors, most of the people inside the hospital have their ordinary lives knocked off track in some way or another. Alexander escorts me all the way to Dad’s door before giving me a clasp on the shoulder and wandering off to occupy himself in one way or another. It’s going to be full privacy, a one-on-one, and I don’t know if I can out stubborn Dad like I can Nate and Caleb.

But, for all their sakes, I sure as hell can try.

“Welcome back, Kir,” Dad says, putting down the magazine he’s flipping through. “I’m guessing you want to talk.”


	30. 29 mph

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for cissexism/transphobia and deadnaming.

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_29 mph_

* * *

I picked out two hours because that was the most I could see Nate and Caleb staying away for, but now it feels like way too much time. Dad and I both know that I’m not there on my own to casually chat, but that’s what we end up doing anyway. Nate and Caleb are much more likely to call me on their own, while Dad is much happier with the occasional check in and hearing about my wellbeing from the grapevine, so it’s not often that we have a lot of opportunities to just _chat_, though.

So we chat.

And wait.

And dance around the real problem until—

“Dad, when are you planning on retiring?”

Once I get all the possible distractions out of the way, I push the question out before he can divert the topic any further. Dad isn’t the type to listen to music or watch TV while others are talking to him, and the room falls silent as soon as I ask. Dad runs a hand through his hair and gives me that half-smile he does whenever he knows us kids won’t like what he’s saying. He used to give Mom that look all the time before heading out for a dangerous investigation.

“We’ve already talked about this, Kirsten,” he says, voice as calm as ever. “I’m not old enough that I gotta give in and retire just yet.”

“The last time we talked about this was three years ago.” When he had his first heart attack, when the doctors first advised him to take it easy, when I had just gotten enough money under me that supporting him would’ve barely cost me a thing. I clench my hands into fists, fingers rubbing against the rough fabric of my jeans. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this isn’t about you being too old. It’s about your health being at risk.”

Dad crosses his arms; as much as he liked to joke that we inherited our stubbornness from Mom, there’s no denying that one was a combined effort of genetics. “In my line of work, being at risk is normal, Kirsten. You know that. I can’t just back out since—”

“Except this is a completely different type of risk, and you _can_ just stop.” There’s an extra edge to my voice, one that I try to pretend is more fueled by anger than stress and sadness. I lock eyes with Dad, taking advantage of the fact that he’s supposed to stay rested in his hospital bed. “Every time you have a heart attack, you increase your chances for another one, and someday you might not be lucky enough to pull through it. I know you like being able to support Caleb and yourself, but you don’t need to worry about that. I’ve managed to save up even more money than before. I can take care of you, help pay for Caleb and Nate, _everything_.”

I catch the traces of a grimace before Dad hardens his expression. “I appreciate the offer, but that doesn’t sit right having to rely on my kids like that. I’m not at the point where I need you to take care of me just yet.”

Frustrated, I toss my arms up in the air. “Fine, then don’t retire! Just change jobs so you’re not in such a high-stress environment that I don’t have to worry about you disappearing while I’m on the opposite end of the country!” Maybe that’s a cheap shot, considering that I’m the one who chose to move, but I don’t care. “I don’t want to lose you, Dad. It was hard enough when Mom died, and I don’t want to go through that again.”

“Hey now.” Dad stretches a hand out to me, and I let him wind his thick fingers around mine, even though it’s not going to change anything. Even though our palms aren’t too different in size anymore, I feel so small. “I’m not gonna go anywhere on you kids. You know that.”

“No, you _don’t_ know that.” Why is it, that no matter how many times I say it, he just doesn’t _get_ it. “Your body’s not going to care what you think about sticking around if you don’t take care of it. Even I know better than that.” For all the stupid risks I’ve taken, I at least know when to back off when I’m out of my league. Why can’t Dad recognize the same and stop this? “I would love to believe that we can keep going on like usual without any problems, but this is the second time. What do you plan to do if the next one comes closer? What if you don’t have help around?”

“Kirsten,” Dad says, with that tone in his voice—the one he always used whenever I had my wild streak in high school and came home constantly in trouble. “I know this is tough on you, but my whole life has been this job. It’s how I met your mother and it’s how I provided for you all, no matter what we went through.” I grind my teeth together to keep the curses from spilling out. “I know you could take care of me and the boys without any trouble, and I appreciate it. But do you think you would just hop on the straight and narrow just because of some health complications? Even with all the crazy stuff you do?”

He tries to rub his thumb over my palm, but I snatch my hand back, not wanting to get lulled into his rhythm. I backed down the last time he said these things, but that was then, when the heart trouble seemed like a fluke, brought on by a high-tension job. He said that it wouldn’t have happened otherwise, and I believed it.

Nate, Caleb, and I all believed it.

We didn’t want to accept the truth.

And that denial just put us back where we started—

_But he has a point. Would you back down from thrill seeking if your health got in the way? Probably not. What right do you have to lecture him when you’re the exact same way?_

_No, no, that doesn’t matter! There’s nothing wrong with me; he’s just deflecting. Don’t get distracted by all that. Your job is to keep Dad safe, and to protect Caleb and Nate along with it. Nothing else matters. Besides, if you have the money to support them, there’s no sense in Dad not taking the support—_

I steel myself and level Dad in a hard stare, trying to replicate the look he used to give us kids whenever we broke the rules. He could never keep it up for long, especially when it came to Caleb, but I have to hope that I have better endurance than him on that front. “Even if I wouldn’t choose to step down on my own,” I say, running over his proposed scenario in my head, “I’m certain that Alexander wouldn’t let me do something so stupid. Because he cares about me. And because I love you, Dad, I can’t let you keep doing this to yourself, so please just retire. Or change departments. Get out of the field. Anything so you’re not turning yourself into a ticking time bomb anymore. _Please._”

Unlike Nate in his younger years, I never got too behind the “tear up and gain sympathy points” strategy, but that doesn’t stop the sting of crying from battering my eyes. Funny, how even after being on the verge of a panic attack on a plane for five hours, I still have some tears left in me. Letting out a frustrated groan, I try to scrub the offending drops away, and Dad furrows his brow, mouth open like he’s about to respond.

Except instead of the sound of his voice there’s a shout from the hallway.

Dad’s instincts are a little more refined than mine are, and he jumps to the ready first—though _jumps_ is a relative term, seeing as he’s still hooked up to monitors and can’t move much further than his hospital bed, not to mention the hand that goes for his police firearm comes up empty. Though my response is delayed in comparison to his, I have more mobility, so I’m on my feet and on the way to the door, listening close for any signs of what else is going on.

More words follow, muffled, and I recognize Nate’s voice.

It doesn’t matter that I don’t feel like their requisite two hours have passed; I throw open the door as quickly as I can without making an excessive amount of noise. Sure enough, Nate and Caleb are back, standing near Alexander in the hallway. My brothers’ expressions are twisted, though Alexander seems conflicted by joining in with them and asking for clarification before doing anything drastic. His eyes find me, but I don’t have the time to give him answers.

Because Nate and Caleb aren’t worked up over nothing, and there’s another person in the hallway. A woman I know, with streaks of gray in her otherwise dark hair, the whole pile of it twisted into an updo, forming crows’ feet on her face, one of those wire-thin frames that make you wonder if the person is eating enough, a complexly patterned dress accentuated by the thin gold loops of jewelry hanging from her wrist, her neck, her ears. Somewhat I hadn’t ever expected to see again, let alone _here and now_ of all places and times.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask, my voice running cold. Though I’ve been angry at Dad, it’s a conflicting sort of fury, mingled with concern. When it comes to this woman—this _bitch_—that’s not even on the table. She doesn’t deserve anything other than my rage. Alexander catches my feelings and moves by my side, his expression hardening. “Didn’t you get the message a decade ago? You’re not welcome around our family anymore.”

The woman sighs, manicured fingers tapping at one of her earrings with an almost bored expression on her face. “I’d hoped that growing up would afford you some maturity, Kirsten. It seems I was wrong.” Hearing her say my name sends a shiver of disgust up my spine. “No wonder these two have given me such a rude reception. You certainly haven’t been a good role model for them.”

“Don’t talk like this is Kir’s fault!” Caleb says, his voice strong though I can see his knuckles whitening from how hard he’s clutching to his sketchbook’s spine. “How we respond to you has nothing to do with her. Where do you get off coming back around and acting like you didn’t do anything wrong?”

Nate nods, swinging his arm forcefully to the side. “How did you even know to come here? Don’t you have your own life to worry about?”

“I heard what happened, so I wanted to come and check up on your father? Is that so wrong?” Nate makes a low sound in his throat, and I catch another glimpse of gold—a thin band around her left ring finger. I feel sorry for whoever she roped into that. “I’m sure he’d be disappointed if he knew you were being so unhospitable.” Her eyes wander to the open hospital door, and I have to resist the urge to slam it back shut, to keep her away. _Just take the hint and leave already!_

“Don’t put words in Dad’s mouth again,” Caleb says, and I want to pull him into another hug, to remind him that he’s amazing, my precious youngest brother. “We’re handling this as a family matter. When he wants to have visitors, you can come by then.”

The bitch herself raises an eyebrow, teased to a thin line. “Is that so? You sound so confident, but I’m willing to bet you’re the one putting words into your father’s mouth there, Cathleen.”

Caleb grimaces at the sound of his deadname, and my carefully constructed patience can do but one thing.

It _snaps._


	31. 30 mph

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued content warnings for cissexism/transphobia and deadnaming.

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_30 mph_

* * *

So, long story short, after Mom died, Dad ultimately got remarried.

It wasn’t one of those relationships that was super fast—it was like three years after Mom passed away that Dad decided to try again. He talked it over with all of us, even Caleb who was barely wandering into kindergarten at the time. He asked us how we felt, and while Nate was a bit reluctant at first, I pointed out that this wasn’t about us, and that Dad deserved to be happy. Once I declared that I wouldn’t blame him, the others followed.

Me at fifteen, just getting started on being a troublemaker.

Nate at ten, learning to navigate middle school and fighting off acne.

Caleb at five, acclimating to kindergarten after the past few years of hopping between our aunt and uncle.

Caleb who hadn’t even realized he was _Caleb_ yet.

Dad assured us that we didn’t need to replace Mom with his new girlfriend, and over time she integrated into our lives and became Dad’s second marriage. She was more straight-laced than Mom was, and it drove her nuts to watch me go on my exploits. But other than her griping at me, she was fine. If she’d acted that way towards Nate and Caleb, Dad wouldn’t have been okay. But his patience with me was running thin, too, and I think they kind of bonded over it. I was too busy chasing away the gray anyway to care much about how a quarter of our conversations were lectures.

And then Caleb asked if it would be okay if he was a boy, and things got messy.

Dad didn’t care in the slightest if he had two sons instead of just one, and I was more than happy to accommodate whatever Caleb needed. Nate was probably the most supportive of all, given that _he_ was starting to realize that girls weren’t really his thing, and they went ahead and bonded even more than before. And given all the strides made in diversity and the like, there weren’t any issues when it came to school and the like. Three guesses who was the wrench in the equation?

The first two guesses don’t count, by the way.

I don’t know what her issue was or why she was still clinging to an outdated viewpoint. I never wanted to understand, either. But Dad talked with her, and even _Caleb_ gave her a chance to get used to it, but she didn’t take it. She tried to change him, tried to ruin the peace my baby brother deserved, and she didn’t even bother to put on a nice façade when Dad was around.

He didn’t hesitate to file the divorce papers.

She threw a big dramatic fit but eventually didn’t have the choice but to leave us alone.

Life went on, and it would’ve been nice to just forget. In fact, I’m pretty sure I had, considering that there were way more pressing issues going on in my life. But even if I had forgotten, I already knew:

That there was no way I would ever forgive.

* * *

My patience evaporated, I can feel my temper boiling over and my body starting to move on its own. Alexander’s hand catches my wrist as it comes up in a swing, and I feel the tug on my arm as I try to step forward. While he managed to halt my forward movement, he can’t stop the words of venom from tumbling out of my mouth.

“_You’re_ the one that never learns!” I say, stomping at the tile and wanting nothing more than to smack the condescending look over her face. “Don’t you remember why Dad split up with you in the first place? If you haven’t fixed that attitude of yours, then you have no reason to come around us!”

“I didn’t come here to debate Cathleen’s delusions with you all,” she says, maintaining that cold composure of hers without a second thought. Nate drops his arm around Caleb’s shoulders, and I try to pull my hand away from Alexander, his grip not budging in the slightest. “I’m merely here to check on your father. If you’d all just let me by, we can stop getting in each other’s hair.”

I’m so upset that I can feel the heat crawling up my neck. “You fucking—”

“Ma’am,” Alexander says, the deep bass of his voice easily overpowering my words even though he doesn’t shout. I turn back to him, glaring all the way. “I’ll admit that I don’t know all the details, but I can tell you’re stirring up trouble. This is a hospital, so don’t you think we should be more considerate of our surroundings?” Sure enough, some people are poking their heads out of their doorways, surveying for trouble. I wouldn’t be surprised if a staff member comes and scolds us soon.

The bitch has the gall to frown, like she’s done nothing wrong. “I suppose you’re right, but I’m not the one getting all worked up here.” Her eyes run over me, and I use my free hand to give her the finger. “I have no intentions of being so crude.”

“While that may be the case, it sounds to me like you’re saying some things that are sure to get a reaction, aren’t you?” I’d be pissed off at Alexander for interrupting if he doesn’t look to Caleb and Nate with a reassuring smile. “Why don’t you two go tell your dad that he has company?” Neither of them hesitate to take the obvious out, Nate shielding Caleb and sticking out his tongue on the way in, the door to Dad’s room shutting behind them.

Dad’s ex follows my brothers with her eyes but doesn’t toss any taunts after them. Despite the fact that I’m glad the boys are out of earshot, I can’t fully relax. The woman gives Alexander an appraising glance, and though there isn’t the flash of recognition in her gaze. The IG never interested her anyways, no matter how much Nate was enthralled with it. “And you are?” she asks.

“No one too important, ma’am,” he says, a forced tone of politeness over her words. “I’m close to the family, if you have to put it someway. But more than that, I’m not a fan of people who disrespect who other people are, so I’d appreciate it if you’d leave the kids out of this.”

“Oh? Perhaps they should stay out of things on their own, then.”

I grit my teeth, torn between cursing her out and not expending the effort on her. “Go be transphobic somewhere else. Dad _still_ doesn’t want to put up with your cissexist bullshit.” I put on a fierce grin. “Remember how you used to try to stop me from getting in trouble? Well I never figured that part out, but I sure did learn a lot of ways to be dangerous. Keep talking shit about Caleb, and you’ll get to see firsthand just what you failed to keep me out of.”

“And even if she doesn’t,” Alexander says, “I’m going to have to respectfully ask you to leave. If your visit is so important, you can come back some other time.”

Her eyes narrow, but she managed to twist her lips into a smile. “I suppose I can, can’t I? Since I’m not getting anywhere, I’ll take my leave then.” I expect for a final shot to come out, but she stays silent as she walks away. Though I have plenty of insults I want to shout after her, it’s Alexander’s presence that keeps me from erupting, a reminder that there are people waiting for me to get back to them and be their rock.

It doesn’t make me any less pissed off at what just happened, though. Not in the slightest.

I glare at the bitch’s retreating back until she’s around the corner and out of sight, and then I stomp the ground so hard that I can feel the tingles working their way up my leg. I haven’t been this angry in ages, not even at Dad for his stubborn nonsense. Funny how I used to chase after this sensation, too, like seeing nothing but red was somehow better than the gray.

It really isn’t.

But still—

Locating the closest chair, I all but fall into it, not caring when my head _thonks_ against the wall behind me. Alexander releases my hand, but he doesn’t stray far, sitting down beside me. I can see the lines of worry forming between his eyebrows, his calm mask from earlier gone. It has to be all the experience in the mech and on camera that helps him keep his cool like that. I just don’t bother.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say she came here to make my life worse,” I say, a groan escaping as I run my hands through my hair. It hardly puts a dent in my frustration. “I’m pretty sure Dad hasn’t talked with her since they divorced. What did she think she was going to get out of this?” Especially since she got hitched with someone else. Once again, I can’t even begin understand her, and I don’t know if I want to. I raise my head and let it fall back against the wall one more time for good measure.

“If I could have the answers to those questions for you, Kirsten, I would.” Gone is all the authority of before; Alexander’s voice just sounds soft. Funny how he’s never had to be an older brother and yet he’s replicated the soothing tone of comfort I use with Nate and Caleb. “I said it on the plane, and I’ll say it again: Whatever you need me to do to help, I’ll take care of it. Is there anything you want me to do?”

“Can you help me make it look like an accident when I push her down some stairs?” Alexander chuckles, despite my even tone. “Hey! I am perfectly serious here.”

Alexander shakes his head. “I don’t think I have enough context to help you out with that.” I toss my hands in the air. What’s the point of dating if you don’t have the confidence to murder someone on the other’s word? With Alexander facing me head on, it’s easy to see how his expression keeps shifting between amusement and worry. “Would it be too much to ask for some context? You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“No, I don’t mind.” With a sigh, I pull myself forward in my seat, elbows resting on my knees. “I’m not the one with any trauma. It just pisses me off.” Concern makes me want to go and check on Caleb, but I know I’m not emotionally stable enough to be there for him. Nate can take care of things for a little bit longer, I decide, then close my eyes. “Tl;dr, after Mom died, Dad got remarried. I think you can guess why she’s not my step-mother anymore.”

Alexander lets out a low hum. “Yeah, I think I can guess.” I hear him shift in his seat, opening my eyes to find him leaning over to be at eye level with me. “I’m still not sold on the whole murder thing, because I’m pretty sure Sir Hamgra will kill _me_ if I got caught up in something like that.”

I put a hand to my chest in mock hurt. “You’re choosing Hamgra over me _again_. I’m starting to think I should be concerned, Alexander.”

“But if we see her again, I promise I’ll take care of your brothers. I’d say I’d take care of you, but, well.” He shrugs. “I know you got that covered. But say the word, and I’ll do whatever you need me, too. They’re your family, so I care about them, too, okay?”

A different kind of heat than my earlier rage starts to wind its way up my neck. “Whatever I need, except for fabricating murder as an accident.”

“Except for that. Forgive my shortcomings.”

“Well, you’re already putting up with me,” I say, stretching my shoulders out, “I think I’m willing to compromise a little bit.”


	32. 31 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_31 mph_

* * *

After a few moments freshening myself up in the restroom, Alexander and I return to the hospital room. Dad has a stern expression on his face, while Nate still looks angry. Caleb is zoned in on his sketchbook, a pen moving fiercely against the pages, loud enough that I can hear the strokes from the doorway. I almost forgot how he manages to make being emotionally overwhelmed into a work of art, his concentration flawless.

All I ever want to do is hit things.

“She’s gone,” I say as a greeting, and half the tension bleeds out from the room in a space of a few seconds. Caleb continues to draw, though he adjusts from his hunched over posture a bit. He’ll finish when he’s finished. “Alexander helped scare her off. It was pretty impressive.” I pat his arm in acknowledgement, another thanks in addition to the ones I spilled onto him in the hallway.

He rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I don’t know if I call diplomacy ‘scaring her off’…”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure what you did was way more passive-aggressive than it was diplomacy.”

“A keeper then,” Dad says, already wholly on board with our relationship from the sounds of it. If nothing else, I suppose Alexander makes a much better impression than I do—which makes me very glad that the highest authority in his life that I need to appeal to is Jan and Dew. “Well, either way, thank you for that. I just wish I could do more to apologize for bringing you into our little corner of drama over here.”

Alexander shakes his head. “Like I said, I don’t mind if I’m helping Kirsten out, sir.”

“Bah, enough of that ‘sir’ stuff. I get enough of that when I’m on the clock.” Dad waves a hand through the air as I prop myself against a wall to observe. “I’d say you can call me by name, but seeing as I’m Caleb, Senor, that’s a bit confusing, too, isn’t it? Though I’m sure C wouldn’t object too much if you call him ‘Junior.’” _That’s unfair, Dad, you know he’s not gonna say anything until he’s done with his art._ “Would you mind if I called you ‘Alex’?”

“Dad,” Nate says, looking horrified, “you can’t go around calling _Cunningham Hume_ ‘Alex.’”

“I don’t see why not. It’s his name, isn’t it?”

I peek at Alexander, but he’s slipped on that half poker face that’s damn near impossible to decipher. I almost miss the way he used to get embarrassed whenever I called him Alexander. “I mean, I guess it’s not too bad.” Catching my raised eyebrow, Alexander smiles. “Don’t give me that look. You’ve said it so many times that my given name’s kind of grown on me.”

Nate buries his head in his palms, a sound like a muffled scream coming from his throat. “Why is my family like this?” he asks before straightening up a bit. “Oh! You don’t mind if I call you Cunningham, do you? I’m just so used to it that it’ll probably slip out anyway, and if it ain’t broke don’t fix it and all.”

Still wearing that winning smile, Alexander nods his approval. “I don’t mind, since that’s the name I use professionally anyways.”

There’s the snap of a book closing shut, and Caleb tucks his pen back in the spiral. There’s still a bit of strain on his face, and I can see the faint traces of tears, but he looks much better than just a few minutes ago, even. “Oh, Kir, you’re back! Are you doing okay?”

“Don’t you give me that. I’m the one who’s worried about you.” I don’t even have to give Caleb a stern look, since Dad and Nate do it for me, and Caleb ducks his head in slight embarrassment. I count myself lucky, since that means I get to go all out on being the comforting one. “You look alright for now, but I’m willing to buy you as much ice cream as you want if you need it, okay?”

Caleb gives me a hopeful look. “Actually, I just went through one of my marker fills—”

“Markers aren’t ice cream, C,” Nate says.

“Close enough!”

Dad’s warm laugh is enough to help some of the lingering tension slip away, but, unlike our earlier talk, he doesn’t dance around the real subject. “Again, though, I’m sorry you kids had to see her again. I didn’t expect her to show up. We haven’t even talked since we signed the divorce papers.”

I take a moment to assess Dad’s tone, and I can tell he isn’t lying—which begs the question of what the hell did she even want? Stir up trouble? Weasel her way back into Dad’s life? For all I know, she genuinely doesn’t see anything wrong with checking up on her ex-husband and being a problematic bitch. If I didn’t have more important things to worry about, I might have gone after her and demanded an explanation. Of course, just because I don’t know doesn’t mean Mariya can’t find out…

_No, bad Kirsten. Bad. If you’re going to lecture Mariya about using her powers for evil, you can’t make her turn around and do it just because you said so._

“Don’t worry, Dad. None of this is your fault,” Caleb says, patting Dad’s arm through the blankets. “Like you always say, you can’t control other people. She decided to come around on her own, even though you set your boundaries. Besides, I know that no matter what she says, you all love me, and that matters way more than what she thinks!”

Dad pats Caleb’s hair before he can even think about protesting. “Smart words from a smart kid.”

“Sounds to me like he learned them from a smart dad,” Alexander says, somehow making the line sound one-hundred percent genuine and not at all like he’s sucking up. Is that what they taught him as a kid? “Well, if Kirsten’s anything to go by, there’s nothing the lot of you can’t handle when you’re all together. Whatever happens, I’m sure it’ll work out.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what family is,” Dad says, parroting one of Mom’s favorite lines. It’s the first time he’s quoted her and I haven’t felt like the world is going to spill over into gray. “Though don’t count yourself out there, Alex. As far as I’m concerned, anyone who helps take care of my kids is good enough to be family, blood or not. What do you say?”

The look of surprise flashes across Alexander’s face so quick that I’m surprised I even catch it. “Well, if you’ll have me, sir.”

“I don’t say things that I don’t mean, boy.”

“If that’s the case,” Alexander says, the corners of his lips curving up into a smile, “I’d be honored.”

* * *

The sky is dark on what feels like the longest day of my fucking life, and I’m so exhausted that not even the time zone difference can give me and edge on wanting to sleep. But I still need to eat dinner (I set the boys free with one of my bank cards and as many take out menus as they could muster), not to mention that I haven’t even started on unpacking my bag.

Dad hasn’t changed the guest room much, and my old furniture is still there, along with the dark red bedspread. I didn’t have much use for any of the things when I took off backpacking out of high school. Now, I’m glad that none of it has changed, because it’s so easy to feel comfortable and at ease when I’m here. I resist the urge to flop face first on the mattress and start pushing my suitcase towards the dresser.

Alexander maneuvers around me and pulls my luggage away. “I can take care of that. You get some rest.”

While my natural instinct is to argue with him, the temptation of not doing anything aside from sleeping and stuffing my face with take out is far too much. So I watch Alexander for a few moments as he pulls open dresser drawers. “I’m not saying that I don’t appreciate it, but you don’t have to do everything for me while we’re here, you know.”

“It’s the least I can do while you’re stressed.” He says it in a way that doesn’t leave any room to argue, and I drop onto the bed ass first before flopping backwards. I’m not even under the blankets and it already feels like heaven. “I really don’t mind helping out, Kirsten. And, no offense, you look like you’re ready to fall asleep any second—and that’s perfectly valid.”

Closing my eyes against the light, I huff. “I could still break your wrist if I wanted to.”

“Oddly specific, but I’m going to ask that you don’t. I kind of need that for when the IG season starts up again.” That’s right, the only reason I’ve been able to monopolize so much of Alexander’s time is because he’s in the off season; once racing starts up again, I’m going to have to compromise. The mattress bounces in response to Alexander lying down next to me, and I open my eyes, enjoying the soothing presence of the green in his eyes. “I don’t have a lot of opportunities to spoil people, and you deserve the support right now. Indulge me.”

“You’re the one that’s indulging me,” I say with half a laugh. “But I’m not going to say no to some help right now. I don’t even want to think about what how today would have gone if you weren’t around.”

“So don’t think about it.” Alexander runs his palm up my arm, coming to rest on my shoulder. I scoot a bit closer, still liking the sensation of my body fitting against his, feeling the rumble of his chuckle through his chest. “Is this the part where I offer to distract you?”

“Silly. If _I_ distract _you_, who’s going to unpack my bag for me?” Even so, I steal a few kisses, relaxing into the sensation, content that it doesn’t have to go anywhere I don’t want it to. “Just for the record, you now know all of my family’s messy angst. You don’t get to back out for that anymore.”

If Alexander’s surprised by how serious I sound, he doesn’t show it. “All things considered, I think you’re all doing okay.” He pauses, and I wonder if he’s thinking about his own family—all the things that I already know, but he doesn’t have any idea that I do. I make a curious noise, hoping that he’ll say it himself so that I can stop feeling guilty. “Ah, come on, Kirsten, you don’t want to deal with my baggage on top of yours.”

“You don’t know that. Maybe it’ll distract me.” I roll onto my back again, my arm hanging over the foot of the bed. “Tell me a story, Alexander. Only if you want to, though.” He’s offered me that courtesy, so I should do the same for him.

Alexander grunts as he sits up, running a hand through his hair. “How about I give you the abridged version?” I nod my approval. Exhaling, he stands up and works on unzipping one of our suitcases. “My family’s pretty high class, my parents wanted to keep up our good name, and I was a smart kid. You can guess where that went for me.” Well, it’s more like I _know_ already, but it’s different to hear it from his mouth, instead of lines of type from Mariya’s data dives. “The problem was that it wasn’t a challenge for me, so I got bored. All but ran away from home when I got scouted for the IG.” I lift my head to look at him, but he’s too hunched over the dresser for me to get a read on his expression. “And, well, then I turned into a bored IGPX racer, and you know the rest.”

I manage to get my hands on a pillow and toss it at his back. “How am I supposed to get scared off if you don’t even have any dramatic fights or anything?”

“Hm, I’m not a very good storyteller. Maybe you should’ve kept that in mind.” I can hear his smirk in that one, and I let myself ease back into the mattress. “I’ll tell you more when the world’s not exploding. How’s that sound?”

“_Kir_!” Caleb’s shout comes from the hallway, and my half-formed response dies in my throat. “What kind of stuff do you want on your pizza? Nate and I were thinking of ordering a couple.”

I let out a groan that only eldest siblings can produce and haul myself up, my bodying protesting at the loss of a comfortable resting place as I head to the door. “You two do realize that someone’s gonna have to eat all the food you guys are ordering, right?”


	33. 32 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_32 mph_

* * *

To pretty much no one’s surprise, Nate and Caleb ordered so much food that there wasn’t any conceivable way to the four of us to eat it in one go, so I made them pack up the rest into the fridge, eat some for breakfast, and also shipped them off to school with leftovers the next morning. The sad part was that, even with all that, our fridge is still overflowing, but there are more than enough meals coming up that we should be able to get through it all before anything spoils. That’s one of the benefits to having so many mouths to feed, I suppose.

_I kind of miss how hectic things are around here, though._

Sleep’s done me plenty of good, and I smile to myself once the boys are out and on their way. For the full Tailor family experience, we’d need Dad home, but I’m hoping that happens soon and then I can stop fussing. Not so sure he’ll be delighted by the pile of food overtaking the fridge, though. If I can’t convince him to change his line of work, he should at least start watching what he eats.

_Don’t think too hard about it, Kirsten. You can fight that battle when he’s in front of you—_

My thoughts cut off as something soft falls over my shoulder. I look, and Alexander’s bequeathed me with a t-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts I forgot even stuffed into my bag. He’s already geared up in his own track suit, which is about one stage less baggy than his usual ensemble. “Could you not think up a more polite way to tell me that I need to stay in shape?” I say with a teasing lilt.

“What I’m doing is offering you the chance to burn off some energy,” he says, working on stretching out his shoulders. “Emotional stress aside, you’ve basically been cooped up indoors since we got on the plane. You’ll feel a lot better if you go for a run or something.” He smiles. “Whatever you like; you already know I can keep up. And then we’ll work on the rest, okay?”

I look at my change of clothes one more time and know he’s right. “Yeah, yeah.” Tugging the fabric off my shoulder, I glance around the living room before looking back to Alexander. “Oh, wait, I get it. This is your way of asking me for a free show. Scandalous.” Ah, there’s the color rushing to his ears.

“Why are you like this?”

“Because you like me just the way I am,” I say, working on tugging off my pajama top as I head back towards the bedroom. For all his foresight, Alexander forgot to snag me a bra to wear. I toss my tank top at him before he can decide whether or not it’s appropriate to look. As if I care. “I’ll take you up on your offer, though. There’s a park nearby that’s got some good paths, if I remember right.”

* * *

Navigating your hometown can be a funny little thing. I haven’t taken to the streets on foot in years (usually I’m navigating everything via public transport), and yet I can remember every little shortcut and way to avoid foot traffic. Every now and then I get tripped up on directions when one of my personal landmarks has changed—a building remodeled or a storefront replaced with another—but the roads are the same and it’s like that cliché about riding a bike. I feel like I could be running with my eyes closed and I’d know exactly where I’m going.

Alexander was right; sitting still doesn’t suit me at all, and it’s been making my mood all the worse. Sure, it’s not like the problems go away, but moving my muscles and getting the blood pumping helps work away some of the tension. Alexander doesn’t have any trouble keeping up with me, only dropping behind every now and then to get out of the way of some other passersby. There’s no need for words, just motion and moving together.

_How lucky I am._

Though there’s a few unexpected detours on the way, but we make our way to the park. We take a quick moment to drink from the water fountains and find a running trail before setting off on the second leg. The environment is such a stark contrast from the desert around IGPX city that it feels like a different world. The weather’s not as hot, there’s trees providing shade, and the color green actually fucking exists.

Since Alexander got me out the door without my phone, I can’t keep track of however much time has passed since we set out, and that’s fine. Without time, I can stop stressing about everything. Without time, I have no idea how long it’s been since we’ve started, only that my body feels like it’s pushing out all the negative thoughts along with the sweat.

Once I get my fill of emptying my mind, I find the nearest bench and collapse across it, head pressed against the seat and my legs bent over the opposite end. Alexander gives up and flops onto the grass, close enough that I can see him without exerting any real effort, but with enough difference that our body heat doesn’t overlap underneath the rising run.

“I’m starting to think that Nate and Caleb have a point,” I say between catching my breath. My eyes follow the vague patterns of clouds, making half-hearted attempts at finding shapes in them. “Why do you put up with me when I’m such a hassle?”

Alexander wipes the sweat off his forehead and raises an eyebrow at me. “You really think you getting stressed and upset is that much of a hassle?” I shrug as best I can while still lying down. “I don’t know where you’ve learned about stress responses, but yours are pretty natural. I’m not about to judge you for that.”

I groan. “Why do you always have the perfect answer to everything?” There’s some more contrasts: no one else that I’ve gotten close to in my life has ever bothered to pretend that I’m anything less than a train wreck. When I close my eyes, the sun shines red against the lids. “Me getting pissed off yesterday. That’s not the worst I can be, you know.” I don’t even know how I managed to hold myself back.

_Except I didn’t, and Alexander’s the one who did all the hard work._

“Here’s the funny thing, Kirsten: I kind of figured out you’re not perfect that one time you broke into my hangar. You breaking into my house was my second hint.” A chuckle escapes my lips. “So funnily enough, I don’t expect you to be this pristine person. So if you get worse, okay, but we’ll figure it out.”

“That’s unfair. I get to be a mess, and you get to be perfect.” So talented, so composed, no matter what he’s facing. A genius show off, and then me.

“Yeah, no.” Alexander flicks my forehead, and I swipe out a hand in retaliation, but since I wasn’t looking right, it’s no wonder that my hit goes wide. I stick out my tongue. “Did you miss the part where I literally ran away from home just because I was bored? How I managed to work myself in a rut and just let myself sit in it and rot?” That small frown falls over his lips again. “I try my best, but I’m not perfect, either.”

“That sounds suspiciously like something a perfect person would say,” I mutter, “but sure, okay, you can be imperfect if you want, I guess.” Alexander snorts, and I smile along with him. I know we won’t be in this honeymoon-ish phase forever, but that doesn’t mean I intend to waste all the easy moments of happiness that are around. Grunting, I sit up, my thighs half protesting against the idea of getting up again. “I vote we go home, wash up, eat something adventurous for lunch, then we go check on Dad.”

“You see, I thought you were the one making a pass at me this time, but then you brought up the possibility of eating more spiders, and I distinctly feel like I’m getting lead into a trap here.” That doesn’t stop Alexander from rising to his feet and offering me a hand up from the bench. Even though I don’t really _need_ it, I still take it. “Is this how the rest of our relationship is going to work? You should have mentioned that in your disclaimer.”

I tilt my head and put on the most innocent smile I can muster (which, admittedly, isn’t very good). “If I were to ever do such a dastardly thing—and I’m offended you think I’m capable of that—then you could absolutely expect the rest of our relationship to be like that.” I pat Alexander’s chest once before stretching out my legs for the trek home. “If you still want to take a pass at me when I’m covered in sweat, though, I won’t stop you.”

I tighten my ponytail, toss my hair over my shoulder, and take off on the jog home, the sound of Alexander’s footsteps intermingling with mine.

* * *

Our next trip to the hospital has two incidents of good news: the first is that a certain bitch doesn’t show up in our immediate vicinity, which is plenty cause to throw a fucking celebration right then and there.

The second is that Dad gets the clear to go home, with a follow-up appointment already scheduled.

If I had a say in the matter, I’d corner Dad into another talk, but I inherited half of my ability to steamroll a conversation from him, and he ends up in an animated discussion with Alexander about work and all that stuff I guess you ask the person who’s dating your kid. Alexander puts up an admirable fight, trying to steer the conversation around in a direction that works in my favor, but even I know better than to try and interrupt that train once it gets rolling. Our original mini vacation plans involved staying about a week anyways, and at least _that_ part of the itinerary hasn’t changed, so there’s plenty of time to sort things out.

_You’re sweet for trying, though, Alexander._

Caleb bursts into tears of relief when he gets home and realizes Dad’s there, and Nate may not cry, but he does sound choked up for a bit, though it’s kind of hard to tell with him squished into a bear hug. Relief floods through my body, banishing the last traces of stress, at the sight of everyone in the family apartment, together and smiling.

The entire world in perfect color.

I’d sit around and soak it all in if I could, expect Caleb snatches my arm and drags me into it, and before I know it, Alexander gets pulled into our mass of tangling bodies. The blurs of vibrant shades are more than enough for me, and I don’t even care that Nate steps on my toes while Dad’s blow somehow makes itself at home in my ribs. And while I don’t mind that I made my home in the middle of the desert, it’s nice to be in the middle of a moment that makes me feel so much like I’m _at home._

“Okay, okay,” Dad says after a bit, patting a still teary Caleb on the back. “I know this is emotional and all, but I think we’re forgetting that this isn’t my party.” With years of practice behind me, I’m able to detangle myself from the family hug faster than Alexander, and I nudge his arm once, tossing him a smirk when he looks my way. “Thankfully, we weren’t planning on doing anything too hectic, so that means we have plenty of time to get things ready.”

It takes a moment for Caleb to catch on, but when he does, he nods, and Nate follows a second later, though I can see that he almost wants to protest. Not that I let him.

“Don’t even bother, Baby Bro Number One,” I say, clapping my hands with finality. “Between Dad getting home and your birthday, I see absolutely no reason _not_ to party.”


	34. 33 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_33 mph_

* * *

Nate does the polite thing where he tries to protest to the idea of us having a party so soon, but the rest of us steamroll him into celebrating since that’d been the plan the whole time, and while he makes a pretty good show of reluctance, I can tell by the light in his eyes that’s he’s excited to get back to normal without any issues. Soon enough, he’s blowing out candles and stuffing his face, not to mention taking full advantage of having Alexander there in person. I haven’t heard Nate talk so much out loud in ages—not that he’s usually silent or anything.

I’ll tell him that I’m paying for him to take a trip to meet the rest of Team Velshtein later. He still hasn’t gotten over the set of autographs I brought along. Besides, if I revealed everything at once, all of Caleb’s hard work on his art piece would go to waste, and we can’t have that, not with a bill for art supplies that big.

Well worth it, though.

No one objects to having a night in at home with the mass of reheated delivery food as our dinner, though we do order in an ice cream cake for good measure. I feel bad for the days when people couldn’t get whatever they wanted just dropped off at their door. For a group of five people, we sure do manage to make a loud and festive atmosphere. Working the Tailor magic, plus one, I suppose.

From a spot on the couch with an empty soda can in hand, I watch Nate talk animatedly to Alexander inside the kitchen—something to do with mechs, I imagine. Caleb’s perched on a bench nearby, more listening than speaking, but he seems to be enjoying things, nonetheless. If Alexander had stuck around in Germany, I’m sure he would have made a great older brother for that sibling of his. _Maybe I should tell him that and see what happens._

Before that thought can get any farther, someone plops down on the couch beside me, and by process of elimination, it has to be Dad. He has a plate of chips from the Mexican place in hand, and he offers me one. Even with the lack of salsa, I comply. “It’s not like you to stay out of the line of action,” he says.

I shrug, still watching the trio. “It wouldn’t be much of a gift for Nate if I was there to still all of Alexander’s attention.”

“And by that, you mean you wouldn’t be able to keep your nose out of it?” I pout a bit, but I can’t deny it. Dad chuckles. “I’m sure Nate wouldn’t mind. He misses spending time with you, you know. Both of them do.”

“Trust me; by the time we leave, they’ll get their fill of me.” When I moved away, I promised myself that I’d always make time for family, no matter what wild adventures I went on, and I like to think I kept that. I glance over to Dad and raise an eyebrow. “It’s not like you to think that it’s even worth lecturing me over stuff like that. What’s on your mind?”

“Ah, you caught me.” Dad rubs the back of his neck for a moment, then he catches the nervous tick and lowers his arm. “I figured I’d let you know that I talked things over with…well, you know.” I grimace at the mention, but I don’t protest out loud. No sense in getting upset when she’s not around. “I reminded her that I didn’t want her around my family. Reset some boundaries.”

I nod, finding the tiny know of anxiety from the whole incident left over in my stomach. “I take it that she took that as well as she takes everything else?”

Dad shrugs as he pops a chip into his mouth. I follow his lead, letting myself indulge in the taste of salt. “You really can’t control other people, but you can control yourself. That’s all there is to it. She may not have liked it, but I didn’t back down.” He sighs, moving the snack plate from his lap to the table before lifting a hand to his chest. “Though maybe I should work on that habit. Even sticking to your guns can have its limits.”

Though I feel like pestering him with questions and pressing the advantage, I know _I_ would get way too worked up, and that would break up the boys’ happy little bubble. I’m not in the mood to be responsible for that. “You sound like you have more than one thing you wanted to talk to me about.”

“That’s right.” His hand presses hard against his chest for a moment, but he drops his arm to the side. “I don’t like to admit it, but you have a point. I’ve been going around putting myself at more risk than usual, and that’s not fair to you or your brothers. I don’t know if I’m ready to quit yet, but I do have a follow up appointment in a bit, and I’m going to actually follow their recommendations this time.” He lets out a sound between a sigh and a chuckle. “We’re in trouble if you’re the one lecturing me about my safety, Kir.”

On instinct, I swat his arm. “You and Nate said the same thing? I’m not _that_ unreliable!” Okay, yes, I’m not the patron saint of rationality, either, but I do have my limits! Just very few of them. I still laugh along, though, more out of relief than anything. “You’re at least going to take better care of yourself this time? You promise?”

The words sound childish, as if a promise is going to fix things, but I don’t take it back. I’m a kid who’s worried about her dad, and if that means I need to get vulnerable for a second, then why the fuck not? It’s not even worrying about the stress and the gray.

_I just don’t want to lose anyone else special to me._

Dad doesn’t call me out, either. “I promise, Kirsten. If I went around telling you to not put yourself at such risk, then I should do the same. Even if it is a bit late.”

“It’s fine. Better late than never.” I lean towards him for a hug, letting myself feel safe and relieved for a second in the embrace. “And I know people who are really good at keeping an eye on things. If you don’t behave, I’ll come back and let you have it.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.” Dad pats my back one more time before I pull away, settling back into the cushions. “I wasn’t really planning on bringing up any of the serious stuff tonight since I didn’t want to ruin the mood, but I thought you might want to know. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Nah, I’d rather know.” With those couple of worries out of the way, things actually feel like the fun and relaxing trip it was supposed to be in the first place. Still, I’ve been sitting in the same place for too long, and I stand, more than ready to stretch out my legs. “Just make sure you let Nate and C know soon, too. They’ll so spy on you for me.”

Dad nods. “I’ll talk to them soon. We can just let them enjoy tonight for now.”

While it would probably be nice to just get it over with, I don’t mind Dad holding off too much. I don’t want to interrupt their smiles for anything, either. So, yeah, it can wait. I give Dad a small wave and head back to the kitchen, hoping to refresh my drink and see if my stomach can tolerate anything else. I don’t even get halfway there before Caleb catches sight of me, the excitement more than clear in his eyes.

“Kir!” he says, a grin stretching across his face. “Alexander said he’d show me some fencing stuff!”

* * *

While Caleb is no doubt the artistic type, there’s just too many pieces of DNA in him to _not_ be interested in something more physically active. He’s mentioned fencing a few times here and there, but he hasn’t delved into lessons or anything. But Alexander is way too good of a sport, and he’s happy to indulge. And so, Caleb and I sit side by side in a private gym room, while Alexander makes his way through his warm up stances, the saber a flick of silver in his hand.

It’s funny. I’ve read all about his fencing championships, seen the equipment in his workout room in his home. But those things don’t compare to how Alexander holds himself in perfect form, the dexterity of the way he makes the sword move in shifts of the arm and well times flicks of the wrist, the look of half-concentration, half-determination on his face that ends in a slight smirk and makes him seem oh so alive.

_How much else am I going to be able to learn about him in the future?_

“So cool,” Caleb says beside me, rapt at attention, the same way he looks with a sketchbook open in front of him. “Do you think I could learn to do that?”

“Probably, if you put the practice in,” I say. Alexander may be a frickin’ genius, but he still puts the hard work in. I don’t think there’s anything out there that Caleb couldn’t do if he put the hours in it to obtain mastery. I catch sight of Caleb’s hands twitching and chuckle. “I’m sure he wouldn’t say no if you asked to take some pics or video for reference. You’d just have to make sure to keep them to yourself.” Though I’m not sure if I or Hamgra would be more annoyed by candid pics of Alexander going viral.

“Really?!” Caleb’s otherwise controlled voice shoots up in volume, and Alexander pauses in the middle of his practice to glance over at us. Caleb’s face quickly turns red, and he waves his hands through the air. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to break your concentration.”

Alexander shakes his head with a chuckle. “Trust me. I put up with Kirsten all the time; a little outburst like that isn’t enough to break my concentration.” Caleb tries to his snigger, but it doesn’t work out that well. _Yes, yes, make jokes at my expense. You pass since you made Caleb laugh._ Despite his words, Alexander moves out of his ready stance and walks back towards us. “If you want, though, I could walk you through some basics. It’d probably be way more interesting than just sitting on the sidelines.”

“No, don’t worry, it’s plenty interesting! I think it’s neat to see all the motion and stuff, so…”

I nudge Caleb’s side. “You should give it a shot. At least you’ll know whether you like it or not.” It’s kind of funny, how Caleb looks so much like Mom but he’s the least adventurous out of us three. I give him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. Alexander doesn’t bite. That’s me you have to worry about.”

“Ohmygod, Kir.” Caleb groans, but he hops to his feet anyways. “If you really don’t mind, I’d love it if you could show me some stuff.”

Alexander nods. “Not a problem at all. You ever held a saber before…?”

Though it would be fun to jump in with them, I keep myself situated on the sidelines, letting their excited voices watch over me without having to hear any of the words. I poke at my phone a bit, opening up the camera and snapping a picture here and there while they’re not looking. Forget what I said about Caleb; the real funny part is how I always insisted that I need to be in motion to see the world in color. But when it comes down to it, sometimes you can just appreciate the view while slowing down a bit.

_What other new things are you going to teach me about myself, Alexander?_ The only way to figure that out is to keep sharing experiences like these, the memories that bring so much happiness in them out of almost nothing.

I like the little mundane moments more than I thought.


	35. 34 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_34 mph_

* * *

Due to scheduling circumstances, Nate is the only one available to see me and Alexander off at the airport, but I don’t mind. I’m just glad that the trip out is a lot less hectic than the trip in; it’s a damn near blessing to be able to roll my luggage into the airport in peace. Nate doesn’t seem as relieved as I do, though, unable to fully conceal his disappointment from my watchful big sister eyes.

Maybe that watchfulness has been developed over years of wanting to know how to tease him, but who’s asking here?

“Don’t look so pouty,” I say, reaching out to pinch Nate’s cheek. Of course, my teasing gesture just brings out his sulking even more, which was naturally the point. “You know that we won’t be gone for too long, plus we’re flying you out to check out the IG setup once you snag some free time. You’ll get to see me and Alexander before you even know it.”

“I know, I know,” Nate says, trying and failing at scowling at me. His playful annoyance doesn’t stop his face from turning pink, though. “You always just stay long enough for me to get used to you, though, then you run back off, Kir. I’m mature enough that I can admit I miss having you around.”

It’s so warm and fuzzy that I can’t help but smile. How lucky am I that I have a family that I want to spend more time with? “Well then you’re just going to have to become a fancy IG mechanic and move out to the city with us. You’ll never get rid of me, then.”

“Don’t worry,” Alexander says from the side. “I think I have a pretty good idea of how to keep her somewhat under wraps.” In perfect sibling coordination, Nate and I snort. Alexander rolls his eyes, then offers out his hand to Nate. “I’ll introduce you to Jan and Dew next time, man. And if you ever want to know if there’s an in as a mechanic, just ask.”

“R-right!” Even from my viewpoint, I can tell that Nate’s handshake is stiff. By the kindness of my heart, I hold off on teasing him—for now, that is. “I really appreciate it. And it was great meeting you!”

I smirk. “Think you’re being enough of a fanboy?”

“Shut up, Kir!”

Alexander’s chuckle cuts off the potential sibling scuffle before it can gain any ground. “If it’s any consolation, Nate, you’re probably one of the best fans I’ve managed to meet. Feel free to fanboy as you see appropriate.”

I whack Alexander’s arm. “Don’t you have a big enough ego without recruiting my little brother?”

“I’m pretty sure he recruited himself, but if you’re worried, I promise I still like you best.” Nate coughs something that sounds suspiciously like an insult I can’t process, and he receives my next hit. Dammit, now I’m the one who’s blushing way too obviously. Flashing me one more smirk, Alexander pulls out his phone to check the time. “We should start heading through security so there’s no rush. You ready to go?”

“Yup, yup.” Letting go of my carryon for a moment, I pull Nate into a tight hug, and he returns it. “Take care, little bro. Call me if you have any trouble. And keep Dad in line best you can. He won’t be able to resist if you and Caleb give him the puppy dog eyes. Use them to your full advantage.”

Nate lets out a slightly watery laugh. He’s always been the worst at goodbyes, and that just makes me get more emotional than necessary. “We’ll hold down the fort. See you soon, Kir.”

“See ya.”

With one more hug and a few more farewells, Alexander and I are in the line for security, waiting our turn. It’s not too crowded for the moment, but there’s just enough crowd present that Nate seems to think he’s perfectly incognito, watching us from the sidelines. I decide not to embarrass him anymore in front of Alexander and just watch my brother with a small smile. One of these days, we’ll drag him to IGPX city, where he can get his hands dirty in all the mechs he wants.

But until that day, it’s nothing but the journey home.

“Are you the type to get homesick?” Alexander asks once we’ve got our bags back together and we’re wandering towards the gate. Unlike some other people rushing to their destinations, we’re a bit early, so we can take our time.

I shrug. “No more than you are.” I’ve always been very self-sustained, especially when there’s the opportunity for adventure in front of me. Everywhere feels appealing, with the fresh shock of color attached to it. Even the traces of gray that clung to me on the way in have disappeared. I don’t think I’ve seen any since.

How refreshing.

“That’s good.” Alexander may not know what I’m thinking, but he carries an easy smile, his free hand intertwining with mine. “We have some time. What do you say we get some coffee?” My own lips curve up in a soft mirror of his.

“Sure. I’ll pay.”

* * *

“Holy crap, Kirsten, I missed you!”

I’ve been able to have my phone fully operational for less than ten minutes, and already Mariya’s whining at me on the other end of the line. I toss an apologetic grimace to Alexander, but he gives me an assuring wave and takes up sentry to wait for the rest of our luggage at baggage claim. Resolving to buy him a little more than just some coffee later on, I retreat to the nearest wall where passersby won’t be able to hear Mariya’s overloud voice as easily.

“I’m pretty sure we agreed that stalking was something you’re _not_ allowed to do,” I say, not knowing why I even bother.

“It’s not stalking if Cunningham told me when your flight was. And that I was using a public online tracker to make sure you didn’t have any issues. Oh, and he posted this cute pic of you two on his private social media, so I could tell you were at the airport back home.” As per usual, she can ramble off her nonsense without even the slightest traces of hesitation. When the hell did they get close enough to share social media accounts? If I didn’t bother with the stuff, I’d be upset. “Now, if I _really_ wanted to stalk you, I would have—”

“Don’t you always record your own calls?” I ask. Pretty sure she wouldn’t want to spill her secrets in a way that could be used as evidence. As frustrating as she can be, I don’t want Mariya to end up arrested; infuriating genius or not, she’s still just a kid.

Mariya laughs in a way that would fit a video game antagonist better than a living, breathing human being. “Don’t be silly, Kirsten, dear. It doesn’t matter what _I_ record myself saying, because there’s not a person alive who could crack my systems.” She snickers again. What’s more terrifying is that she’s telling the truth, and not just a hyperbole.

I sigh. “Yes, yes, you’re incredible. Was this call just to flex, or did you want something else?” While I’m still considering setting up Mariya monitoring on Dad’s health, I’m going to trust him to communicate with me—or have Nate and Caleb be narks whenever he doesn’t.

Mariya harrumphs. “I behaved the whole time you were gone. I just wanted to say hi since we haven’t talked.” A few retorts spring to mind, but since phone calls are basically our main form of communication, I’d feel bad denying her the social interaction. “Plus you’ve been spending loads of time with Cunningham! The racing season’s about to start. Let’s hang out.”

“Hang out?” It’s such a common string of words, but it doesn’t match up with how Mariya talks at all, so I just end up gaping in public like some fish. “Like, as in, hanging out in person? Are you feeling sick? Should I call an ambulance?”

“_Rude._” It’s not my fault that I can’t even remember the last time that I saw her face in real life. Several months? A year? It’s hard to keep track when there’s so much gray all blurring together. Mariya makes a sound that I’m pretty sure indicates that she’s stuck out her tongue for all the good it’s doing her now. “Come on, Kirsten. You’re like the only person who’s ever come see me before.”

I hum under my breath at the memory. “Last I checked, that’s because you’re a shut-in.”

“And as such, that means if I’m gonna hang out with anyone, you need to come over, because I’m not exposing my location to anyone else.” I can’t help but snort at her dramatic tendencies, but I suppose that’s what makes Mariya, well, Mariya. “Ah, whatever. I’ll make this a standing offer so you can come over once you decide to stop being lame.”

“I am not lame. I’m like the coolest friend you have!” Is that a skewed rating since I’m one of her _only_ friends? Sure, but I’ll take it. Trying not to make my outburst too obvious to the crowd jostling to get to the revolving baggage claim, I clear my throat and lean further back against the wall. “But, sure. If you want some company, I’ll come over. It’s about time I enable you in a positive way.”

“For real?! You’re the best. I henceforth take back everything I said about you being lame.” Her laughter ends up giving me the same fuzzy feeling that seeing Nate and Caleb’s smiles do; adding in a younger sister to the mix doesn’t seem too bad. “We’ll have to watch some movies. Oh, and you can try this game I’m playing, too. Wow, I’m actually excited for hanging out with someone. You’re right, Kirsten, maybe I _am_ sick.”

“Well I’ll be sure to come and check on you soon if you are ill.” Through all the bodies, I catch sight of Cunningham, both of our bags in hand. I toss him a wave he can’t return, but he notices me, too, and heads my way. “I gotta go so we can get out of the airport in one piece. You behave over there, you hear me?”

Mariya lets out an overexaggerated hum. “Now why would I go and do something like that?” The sound of my sigh is enough to set her off on a fresh round of giggles. “Well, I suppose I can keep myself under control for you. Tell Cunningham I say hi. Mariya, out!”

Shaking my head, I stuff my phone back in my pocket. My hands free, I accept my suitcase from Alexander. “That Mariya?” he asks with an air of amusement.

“Smirk all you want; she’ll be bombarding you with random phone calls soon enough.” I’ll be damned if that girl learns any sense of personal space. She should at least bother Alexander as much as she does me. “It’s your privilege as my partner. You have to put up with my friends and family.”

“I can think of way worse fates.” He nudges my shoulder once before we head towards extended parking. Since we were in such a rush to leave, we left his car behind. It doesn’t take too long from the exit for the heat wave to hit us in the face, dry air a complete change from the atmosphere on the opposite coast. But the sky is blue, the clouds are white, and Alexander is in color beside me. I think I’d be satisfied anywhere, so long as I get that view. Alexander manages to ruin my moment with a yawn. “I am kind of exhausted, though. Let’s head home and get some rest.”

My smile doesn’t fade. “You know what, Alexander? I just realized something.”

“Hm? What’s that?”

“I think you’re the only person I’ve ever met that could make taking a nap sound exciting.”

If he can accomplish that much, I don’t see either of us having to fight off boredom again.


	36. 35 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

_35 mph_

* * *

Seeing the sky covered over in gray is never an appealing prospect, and I frown as I look out Alexander’s kitchen window. Of course, it’s not that I _can’t_ see the color, just that a rare batch of rain clouds has chosen to turn the view into a slate haze. I sigh as I hear Alexander’s footsteps approach. “You don’t think it’ll rain and ruin the party, do you?”

“I wouldn’t count on it. We still race our mechs in the rain, and the gala’s inside.” The heat of Alexander’s body presses against my back as his arms curl around my waist. “So you’re not getting out of being my date so easily. Though I do appreciate you coming along.” Considering everything Alexander did to help me when there was trouble with Dad, the least I can do is come along to the IG-1 season opening gala with him. “I’ll admit, I didn’t expect you to dress up, though. I feel spoiled.”

Though I normally don’t bother with getting all dolled up, I still bought some designer dress. It has a sharp dip down my neckline, but I liked the color and the fabric costs way too much to be uncomfortable, so I don’t mind. It’s not like I didn’t have the money for it anyways. “Well, if we’re gonna cause a stir because you suddenly show up with a girlfriend after the off season, I at least need to look good for the paparazzi pics.” Alexander snorts, and a I grin as I turn around. “You don’t look half bad yourself. I didn’t know you owned clothes that actually fit you.”

For once, there’s not a sign of baggy clothes anywhere. Alexander’s got on a dark suit jacket with matching pants, while his button up is a muted red underneath. Not as tight as his mech suit, by any means, but still an improvement.

“I knew it,” Alexander says with a dead serious tone, “you only like me because you want my body.”

I double over in a snort, and Alexander and I laugh until we’re out of breath. Somehow, I recover first, though I have to steady myself on his shoulders to stay upright. “Well, I’ll admit your body’s nice, but it’s not the top thing on my list of what I like about you.”

An amused glint slips into Alexander’s eyes as his lips form a small smirk. “And what _is_ on the top of that list?”

“If I told you now, it’d ruin the suspense, and then you’d get bored of me in no time.” I pat Alexander’s cheek. “Not to mention it would take too long to explain, and then we’d be late, and I’m pretty sure Hamgra would kill me, so I’d rather not risk taking on that responsibility.” Alexander sighs, but he hooks his arm in mine, turning us towards the door. “Could I convince you to take a rain check, Alexander?”

The way he smiles still sends a pool of warmth through my stomach. “If it means I get to spend time with you, Kirsten, I’ll take a rain check anytime.”

* * *

I have never been so grateful that it’s not raining in my entire life. While the gala has some damn good food and an even better selection of alcohol, there’s just a whole lot of people there who aren’t interested in much else than getting a glimpse of the IG-1 teams and talking about all sorts of boring things. Alexander gave me his blessing when I told him I was gonna get some air, but I feel kind of bad for leaving him to fend for himself, especially since there was a group of men and women eyeing him like predators from the side.

_He's used to dealing with that sort of thing. He’ll figure it out._

The hall we’re using for the gala has a nice balcony that has coverage in case the sky decides to rain down its retribution. At least the clouds have cut back on the temperature along with it inching deeper into the evening, so it’s not hot as balls outside. I suck in a breath of fresh air and stretch my arms, feeling beyond grateful I decided _not_ to add heels to my ensemble.The less inconveniences I have tonight, the better.

Like everything else in the gala hall, the balcony itself is fucking huge, giving me more than enough space to take a short walk. Not even twenty paces in, I see another partygoer has had the same idea I did—and even more, I recognize who that partygoer happens to be.

“If it isn’t Takeshi!” I say, waving. Takeshi spins around from his position leaning against the banister, cleaned up a bit in his own suit of choice, and he blinks once he sees me. There are way worse conversation partners than this kid hanging around, that’s for sure. “Hah, you weren’t expecting to see me, huh? Alexander brought me along as his plus one, but I’m not too big of a fan of shindigs like this.” Even in my wildest days, gatherings like this were way too fancy to be my style. Some things never change, no matter how much money you have…

Takeshi’s nervous smile melts into something a little more genuine at what I’m assuming is common ground. “Yeah, I never liked parties much, either, but there’s just some things you gotta do when you’re the champion two years running.” He shrugs, and I give him a sympathetic nod. “You came with Cunningham, but he’s not with you?” Takeshi peers around my shoulder, as if Alexander is going to materialize out of thin air, and I can’t help but laugh.

“I left him to put up with the line of fire from sponsors and fans with too much money.” Takeshi grimaces. “But, hey, I’m not the only one wandering around on my own. I notice your plus one is missing, too. Or does it still work that way whenever they’re on your team?” Watching Takeshi flush beet red is almost as satisfying as flustering Nate.

He coughs, as if that will cover up his blushing. “Liz knows I don’t like this stuff, so she cut me a break. She doesn’t seem like it, but she enjoys this sort of thing more than you’d expect.” He smiles a bit just thinking about her; do I look that obvious when I talk about Alexander? Does he look that obvious whenever he talks about me? I’m half tempted to get Mariya to set up surveillance, but I left my phone behind so I wouldn’t get too distracted. “Hey, it looks like someone came to pick you up, though.”

I follow Takeshi’s gaze to see that Alexander is headed our way, not looking near as haggard as I expected him to be. Instead, his smile is playful, and I find myself mirroring my expression. Whenever he reaches us, he gives me a quick node before facing off with Takeshi. Despite being in their formal clothes, they both shift into different positions, and I recognize that each of them is holding onto an imaginary sword. They continue their showdown for several moments before their fists move in blurs of movement, tracing the arcs of invisible swords through the air.

_What a couple of nerds._

They hold their possession for a few moments, their eyes assessing the results, before Takeshi breaks form with a slump and groan. “Dammit, I _still_ can’t beat you.”

Alexander chuckles, opening his palm to give Takeshi a consoling pat on the shoulder. “Hey, you’ve already beat me on the track a few times. I gotta keep the upper hand on you somehow, man.”

Takeshi’s grin turns competitive. “We’ll see how that goes when we get on the track.”

“I guess we will.” Free from his obligatory showdown, Alexander steps to my side and takes my hand. “But for now, I’m more interested in your company, Kirsten. Jan and Dew wanted me to tell you not to bail so you can come to the team after party. They’re interested in whether you have enough tolerance to try and out drink Sir Hamgra.”

Interest piqued, I raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t even know Hamgra _touched_ alcohol,” I say, not having expected it in the slightest. “Alright, I’ll bite. I’ll drink loads if it means I can see Hamgra make a fool of himself.” If he’s a mellow drunk like Alexander, I’ll riot. “Oh, but then you get to be in charge of taking me home, Alexander. I’d rather avoid any incidents of my own.”

“I always do, don’t I?” Both of us squeeze our fingers closer together at the same time. “Sorry, Takeshi, I’d invite you and the rest of Team Satomi along, but you kids are a bit too young for this sort of thing. Maybe one of these years.”

“Maybe,” Takeshi says, looking half amused and half concerned over the thought of the collected members of Team Velshtein with some drink in them. One of these days he’ll figure out that I’m the one he should be bothered about. “For now, I think I’m okay with hanging out with a couple of sodas.”

Alexander lets out a thoughtful hum. “Maybe you should tell Liz that.”

Without proper lighting it’s difficult to tell, but I’m pretty sure that whatever color exists in Takeshi’s face drains out of it. “Seriously? What’s she thinking?” He groans before sprinting off back towards the gala hall. “Sorry, gotta check on Liz, catch you guys later!”

“Cute kid,” I say, waving even though Takeshi’s too busy barreling straight ahead to even think about looking back. “Liz isn’t actually doing anything that he should be worried about, though, is she?”

Alexander doesn’t even bother to put on a sheepish front. “Caught me. I may have just wanted a little breathing room with you before we get dragged into everything else tonight.” His smirk does drop to a more sincere expression. “Things are going to get busy during the season, and I’ve never actually dated anyone while racing, so I don’t have any idea how this is going to go.”

“What? You’re worried I’m going to get bored while you’re out?” I mean to just tease him, but there’s the faint spark of concern in his eyes that all the practice smiling in front of a crowd can’t erase. “Alexander, I’ve been entertaining myself for what’s getting close to three decades here. I’ll manage while you’re doing your job, so long as you drop me in the simulator every now and then. It’s not like your racing season lasts _that_ long. And whenever you start to get bored of your fucking amazing job, I’ll drag you off on a plane somewhere, and we’ll have the time of our lives.”

Because even if it’s not because of a deal anymore, I did decide: that as long as I can help it, I’m not going to let Alexander wallow in boredom every again.

“I think I like the sound of that.” He leans his head against mine as a breeze washes over us. “I’ll make up for all your hard work when the next off season rolls around. I’m sure I can find something new for you to do.” We both chuckle at the notion at the same time. “Or if nothing else, we can say it’s our first time doing something together. Is that exciting enough for you?”

“I’ll allow it,” I say with an exaggerated sense of self importance. “So long as you’re helping me keep in check, I should be fine. I mean…you already helped me see the world in color.”

So much has happened since I last mentioned it that I wouldn’t be surprised if he forgot. But stupid genius that he is, Alexander smiles without needing to ask any questions. “I’m glad. You happen to have a favorite?”

I think about the flash of red of his mech suit when we first crossed paths, the way the sunlight brings out all the shades of brown in his hair, the stretch of a pristine and pastel blue reaching across the sky above a reddish brown desert. But while that’s all wonderful, none of it holds a place in my mind the way his eyes do.

“Emerald green,” I say with confidence.

And whatever other colors I see in the future, I know that Alexander will be there with me, both of us walking our paths in tandem, remembering what it’s like to feel alive.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Alternate Speed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22136242) by [Aviantei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviantei/pseuds/Aviantei)


End file.
